


Berry Barista

by junko



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Awkward Sexual Situations, Boys Kissing, Coffee Shops, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:17:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3355559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo is the worst barista ever.  Oh, yeah, and there's something seriously shady going down at Urahara's Shoten....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bleach List Girl's list of ["If the Shinigami and Espada Were Baristas." ](http://bleachlists.tumblr.com/post/110371102693/if-the-shinigami-and-espada-were-baristas)

It was the dumbest name for a coffee shop Ichigo had ever heard of in his whole life. Nothing clever like ‘Brewed Awakening’ or ‘Espresso Yourself’ or ‘Thanks a Latte,’ it was just: “Urahara Shoten.”

Ichigo thought the place looked a little shady, too. But, maybe that was just the neighborhood. The shop was wedged between the sprawling university campus and its low-rent, student neighborhood and the city’s busiest hospital complex. The whole street had a kind of blink-and-you’d-miss it vibe married with the kind of working class attitude where all the holes got quick, temporary patches, but it took time for people to get around to actually fixing them up properly. 

Eh, that part Ichigo appreciated. Felt like home.

He was there because the handwritten sign in the window said ‘Help wanted’ and, more importantly, ‘No experience necessary. Will train!’ The little pink hearts around the word ‘train’ were a bit odd and off-putting, but Ichigo needed a job. Rukia said she came here all the time, so it couldn’t be that bad, could it?

It was weird how much Ichigo trusted someone he only just met—and under such harrowing circumstances, too—but Rukia had helped save his sisters’ lives and started him on his new career path and pretty much changed his life. So…

Nothing ventured, right?

Ichigo checked his watch for the time and then, squaring his shoulders, pushed his way in the door. Cowbells clanged overhead and a surly looking redheaded kid holding a broom like a cricket bat jumped guiltily. Ichigo thought maybe he’d interrupted a kid’s game, but the other person involved, a tiny dark-haired girl looked so miserable, he figured more like the red-haired kid was harassing the other one.

“I’m here about the job,” Ichigo explained as the kids continued to stare at him. He hooked his thumb at the sign in the window. “The job? You know, the one in the window?”

The tiny dark-haired girl bowed and scurried off without a word, hopefully to get someone less… weird, and maybe in charge? The runty scowling kid continued to stare at him.

Ichigo ignored him. The place was deserted. Rukia had told Ichigo that he should stop by during the slow time, which she said would be in the middle of the afternoon, but this place was DEAD.

Not a single soul sat at the coffee bar or at the tables and chairs scattered around the room. The whole shop had a very old-world, traditional feel, more like a samurai’s teahouse than a modern coffee shop, but there were amazingly high-tech espresso machines and other blinking, fancy doo-dads beyond the counter. The odor of roasted coffee beans lingered in the air, which gave the otherwise vaguely creepy place a rich, homey scent.

However, just when Ichigo was starting to feel at ease, a giant man with a handlebar mustache and cornrowed hair came out of the backroom. He wore an engineer’s apron and there was something about him that made Ichigo want to back out very slowly. But, the big man opened his arms in welcome and boomed out a happy: “Irasshaimase!”

“Um, actually,” Ichigo said, not wanting to be mistaken for a customer, “It’s the job I’m after. Rukia said now might be a good time to ask…?”

“Oh,” the big mustachioed guy frowned. His eyes were hidden by a highly reflective pair of square-framed glasses that glinted constantly, even in the dim light of the coffee shop. Ichigo couldn’t read his expression at all, and his voice was flat as he said: “Rukia is one of our best customers. Jinta, get the boss.”

“Why me?” whined the redhead. But one stern look from the big guy and he was off and running.

The giant bowed and introduced himself as Tessai Tsukabishi, so Ichigo did the same and said his name. For some reason this garnered some raised eyebrows and a far more genial, “Sit, sit! Tell me how you know Rukia.”

Well, he didn’t really, did he? They weren’t exactly best mates. Ichigo had only recently transferred into her Emergency Medical Training classes at the community college. In fact, Dad was still so pissed off about all that, since Ichigo had quit a highly regarded, exclusive medical school to do it. 

“Truth is, she saved my life,” Ichigo said. “You heard about the truck that ran into the clinic? That was my house. My sisters would be dead right now if Rukia hadn’t been passing on her way back from that maid café job.” It was still so weird that Yuzu and Karin had been saved by a samurai cosplayer, but whatever. “She’s an EMT, you know, and what she taught me about saving lives that night was…” well, it was like a stab in the chest to realize how little he’d learned of practical value studying to be a surgeon. It was like she’d opened his eyes to a whole new world, a world where he could actually do something… big. Ichigo shrugged at his own self-importance. “Anyway, we’ve been friends since.”

Tessai was nodding along and Ichigo had been so intent on telling his story, reliving that fateful night that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a slender hand slipped a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Yipe!” When he’d recovered, Ichigo glanced over at this ninja barista. 

He was a tall guy who looked like he’d forgotten to get dressed or shave this morning. He had on green pajama pants or karate gi, complete with the loosely tied shirt. There were geisha clogs on his bare feet, and a kind of samurai overcoat over his shoulders. Weirder yet, perched on top of a blond mop was a striped bucket hat that shaded his gray eyes—sharp predatory eyes that seemed to cut right into Ichigo’s soul and lay it bare and exposed. 

“A thousand pardons,” the ninja barista giggled girlishly behind a fan in a way that totally belied his soundless approach. He introduced himself as Kisuke Urahara. “I understand you’re here for the job. Do you have any qualifications…Ichigo Kurosaki?”

“Um, no,” Ichigo admitted. “But the sign says: ‘no experience necessary’.”

“Are you at University?” Hat-and-clogs asked, sliding into the seat next to the big guy, whose name Ichigo had also already forgotten. They sat next to each other easily in a way that made Ichigo’s mind peg them instantly as married.

“Not any more,” Ichigo said, relaxing into the conversation. “I’ve got a light load at the Community College at the moment, because I just transferred in. So, I’ve got some time, but, like no money. Dummo dad was pretty ticked off when I quit medical school, so I’m crashing at Keigo’s place.” Ichigo had tried Chad first, but wouldn’t you know he needed a paying roommate? “Which sucks, by the way; Keigo’s sister is certifiable. I need a place of my own, stat. So, when can I start?”

Something about Urahara’s slow, easy smile made a shiver run down Ichigo’s spine. Urahara shared a quick glance with the big guy who crossed his beefy arms in front of his barrel-chest and gave one sharp, certain nod. They clearly decided something. Ichigo hoped it was a yes, but with these two it was impossible to tell.

In fact, when Urahara stood up and started walking away, Ichigo thought maybe he’d come on too strong. At the door to the back rooms, he paused, held on to his hat and said, “How about tomorrow? Can you come at five am sharp?”

Ugh. Five in the morning? But, Ichigo nodded. “I’ll be here.”

#

Within ten minutes of working at the Shoten, Ichigo knew there was something seriously dodgy going on in the back rooms. But, he really didn’t have much time to worry about it, because he really sucked at being a barista. For one, he had a shitty time knowing when to turn anything off, so everyone’s lattes were either too hot or too full. 

And people expected him to remember things.

Like their names.

In desperation Ichigo had taken to writing names down on cups, but even then he swore the name would evaporate before he’d even get it written down. So, he’d stand by the pick-up island scowling at his scrawl for a long time before finally shouting, “Okay, a mocha for… something with an A, maybe? I?” With a sigh, he started over, shouting out: “Who ordered the frilly skinny mocha?”

“It ain’t frilly, you moron,” a big tattooed bruiser with flaming red hair growled. “I’m watching my cholesterol.”

For some reason, Ichigo found that hilarious. A big guy like that? With all those tats? Look at him, anyway: he must be six foot something and so… ripped. Too bad his fashion sense was 1970s retro. Who even wore sunglasses like that anymore? 

Yet when their fingers touched briefly as Ichigo handed over the mocha, something sparked in Ichigo. He felt a surge in energy. His heart started to beat wildly. He started to open his mouth maybe to apologize for laughing, but for sure to ask for a phone number…

But he was interrupted by Ishida: “Oh my god, new guy, you suck at customer service. You’re not supposed to laugh at them! That’s for later, once they’ve left!”

After two seconds of being introduced to Uryuu Ishida, an instant mutual hostility had blossomed: Fussy Barista Hates You. No, no, Ichigo corrected himself ‘not barista, ‘coffee artisan,’ as Ishida had said. Apparently, Ishida felt he was the last of some dying breed. 

“Also, you left the water running again,” Ishida huffed. “Who even does that? Do you not understand the purpose of the off button?”

“Not really, no,” Ichigo admitted.

“Abarai,” the customer was muttering angrily. “It’s Renji Abarai. Remember it, new guy.”

Ichigo turned back to the hot tattooed guy—Renji?—hoping to tell him that his name was Ichigo Kurosaki and he should remember that because… well, because it would be kind of okay to be remembered by a guy like him. But Renji was already stomping away, looking fairly irritated, so yeah… that was how it always went, wasn’t it?

No wonder Ichigo was still a virgin.

He sucked at flirting almost as much as he did this new job.

#

Ichigo managed to survive rush hour without punching Ishida in the face or scalding himself or a customer too badly. Probably the thing that helped was Ishida issuing a challenge to prove which one of them was better. Ichigo was a lot of things, but he was no loser. Okay, so they might have broken the espresso machine a little bit, but, well, he felt kind of bonded with Ishida now. Even if Ishida didn’t seem to feel the same, they were definitely friends now.

Tessai clucked his tongue under his breath while he worked on repairing the machine. Ishida had gone off for the day—something about a sewing circle? Anyway, Ichigo still had nowhere to be for several hours so he hung around polishing the tabletops and restocking the sugars and such. 

The place had emptied out again. 

Like, completely.

It was, quite frankly, weird as sin. Urahara Shoten was apparently not the kind of coffee shop where you brought your laptop and hung out pretending to write your opus novel, while actually surfing the Internet. Girlfriends didn’t come to gossip and giggle. No one lingered, in fact. Not one soul. Business boomed during rush, but then… nothing. 

Probably, Ichigo determined, part of it was due to the chairs—the few there were, were hard and uncomfortable. Sitting on the floor was so old-fashioned! Speaking of the Stone Age, there was no Wi-Fi (who even heard of a coffee shop without?) and… even stranger, no outlets along the walls for customer use. It could also be the candy they had in the display cases where other places would have muffins and scones. It wasn’t even chocolate, which Ichigo liked. Chocolate and coffee could be a thing, but this was candy no one ever, ever bought.

Who was he kidding? Ichigo knew the real reason no one hung around once they bought their lattes. It was the shady-ass characters that slunk in and out of the backrooms at odd times. 

Once, accidently, Ichigo glanced at one of the thugs and recognized him. The dude was an asshole Ichigo knew from high school, the kind that used to jump out of the shadows of underpasses, thinking that just because Ichigo was ‘hafu’ he’d be easy prey. Showed him. It made Ichigo happy when annoying dickwad slipped away with a slightly hurried step after meeting Ichigo’s eyes.

Tessai nodded, like he approved.

Jesus, Ichigo sure hoped they hadn’t hired him for his muscle. Then, again, it couldn’t actually be for his barista skills. They had nodded at each other when Ichigo’d told him his name. Did they suspect? Dummo Dad used to run with the underground sort, back when they were all Shiba and Dummo Dad was known as the Tenth ‘Capo.’ Witness protection was supposed to fix this problem. It didn’t help if the local shady bosses already knew Kurosaki was a fake name.

Because, yeah, this place was obviously some kind of yakuza front, a bridge between the upright world and the underground one. Black market trade, probably, but Ichigo knew just enough about all that to know you didn’t ask after ‘Good Neighbor’ business. So, he kept his mouth shut and tried not to look up again when he heard the backroom door slide open or closed.

He did glance up, however, when the cowbells rang over the front door.

Ichigo couldn’t believe his luck.. It was that gorgeous doofus with his snakeskin cowboy boots, bellbottom jeans, and vintage paisley silk shirt with those wide collars. His hair was still a riot of spikes, made worse by whatever delirious fashion choice had made him decide to pull all of it into some kind of topknot at the very tip of his head. 

This was clearly that guy who looked in the mirror this morning and decided: I look great!

And, Ichigo kind of agreed. He had a secret thing for nerds and dorks—outsiders really. Most of his friends were the people who didn’t quite fit, at any rate. 

Finally, Ichigo remembered to say, “Irasshaimase! Can I help you with something, Renji…uh, Abarai, right?”

“You remember my name?” Renji seemed surprised. But, before Ichigo could say anything stupid like ‘dude, look at you, you’re hard to forget!’ Renji glanced anxiously around the shop, and muttered, “I lost my sunglasses. You haven’t seen them, have you?”

He’d come back for a cheap pair of star-shaped sunglasses? Ichigo really, really hoped this was one of those ‘I left my sweater at your places moments,’ but he was shit at reading people honestly. Renji probably wasn’t even into guys. Fabulous, clearly, but probably not interested.

Ichigo tucked the wet rag he’d been using on the bar stools back behind the counter and asked, “Oh, hey, Tessai? Do we have a lost and found or something?”

The head gesture made Ichigo guess it was in the back.

In the back?

In the back rooms where all the shit went down?

“Um, wait here,” Ichigo said to Renji. “Have a cup of water or something. I just filled it up. I’ll… go in the back and look around, I guess. Because it’s totally o-kay for me to go back there.”

Even though he’d said those words as obviously as he could, Tessai didn’t even glance up from his work. Ichigo guessed that meant it really was all right for him to go back there at this moment. 

Ichigo went down the length of the coffee bar to the back room door. Putting a hand on it cautiously, he pressed his ear to the rice paper, but he couldn’t hear anything suspicious. With a sucked in breath, he slid the door open boldly and shouted, “Shitsureishimasu! Just looking for the lost and found!”

With that, Ichigo blundered his way in. He walked past a few closed doors. The main office door was just there, and Ichigo ducked past it, seeing a basket full of mittens and other sundries. He picked it up, intending to bring it back for Renji to hunt through, even though it seemed pretty clear just from a glance there were no sunglasses to be had. Turning, Ichigo tried not to look inside the office, but a familiar shape caught his eye. 

He stopped and stared, trying to place those narrow hips and boyish figure. Oh shit! It was Rukia. She took something Urahara gave her and exchanged it for cash. It looked a fuckload like one of those Pez dispensers the rock star drug addicts used to pop their pills from. He knew he should turn around, walk away, not say anything, but the bunny ears on the thing made him let out a dark chuckle.

She turned around. Seeing him, she quickly stuffed the Pez dispenser into the pocket of her skirt. The move was not quite guilty, but it was fast enough that it was clear she hadn’t wanted him to see it. She tried to plaster on a smile and then obviously decided ‘fuck it.’ Pushing passed him, Rukia barreled toward the door.

Ichigo was left, momentarily, staring at Urahara, whose fan flashed up from whatever sleeve he hid it in. “Oh my, my,” was all he said. Ichigo kind of hung there with the basket in his hand, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Urahara yawned lazily, and turned to the safe, ostensibly to put Rukia’s money in it.

With Urahara’s attention off him, Ichigo suddenly felt released from the spell that had him rooted to the spot. Dropping the basket, he bolted after Rukia. He got half way back to the front of the shop in time to hear Renji stammer out a surprised, “R…Rukia?”

She paused only long enough to give them both a stricken, horrified look. Her large, purple eyes held something fragile for a moment. Ichigo thought she might say something to them, but then she turned away and ran out into the street.

The cowbells echoed hollowly in her wake.

#

His shift having been over some time ago and not exactly wanting to hang around after that whole fiasco, Ichigo surprised himself by boldly asking Renji to join him for a burger up the road so they could talk about… well, everything. 

“I’m skinned,” Renji said with a little, embarrassed shrug.

“I’ll buy,” Ichigo said. That made it a date, right? Grabbing his coat from the peg, Ichigo hustled them out the door before Urahara could come out from in back. Ichigo didn’t think Urahara would… actually, he had no fucking idea what Urahara would do, so it was better if they were happily ensconced in some corner booth at the very busy, queer-friendly burger joint up the street. 

Besides, Tatsuki was the manager there and she was the women’s Judo champion. More importantly, she took shit off nobody. 

Renji seemed lost in thought as they walked up the road. Ichigo took the opportunity to surreptitiously check him out. He really shouldn’t be attractive, Ichigo decided. Not with tattoos on his face and neck like some kind of prison convict. But his features were sharp and fierce, like a wolf, and his body taut and hard, like a snake ready to strike.

Despite the cool air, Ichigo felt his cheeks heat.

Fuck, he’d better make conversation because being left with his own thoughts was potentially embarrassing. “You know Rukia, too?”

“I haven’t seen her since we was kids, not really,” Renji said. The snakeskin boot kicked out and sent a bit of trash sailing towards the gutter. They walked past a brick wall spattered with graffiti gang tags. “I mean, we both decided to make something of our lives and came to the city to go to school, but… fuck.”

That ‘fuck’ sounded more than a little fraught. Ichigo was about to ask him about it, but Renji glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. 

“I’ll tell you once we’re inside,” Renji said lowly, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled Ichigo’s ear. 

Such a stupid time to be turned on! He should be thinking about Rukia. 

He really did hope she was okay. “That was quite a look she gave us,” Ichigo said. “Rukia, I mean, when she left.”

“I bet she was surprised to see me,” Renji said with a funny little shake of his head that had Ichigo wondering what else Renji wasn’t saying. 

When they got in the door of the restaurant, they were met with a warm blast of greasy air and Tatsuki. She gave Ichigo a very broad smile when she saw Renji in tow. Worse, she gave them the very best ‘love bird’ seat in the way back of the busy restaurant. 

“Is this okay?” she asked cheekily.

“It’s perfect,” Renji agreed, clearly meaning the privacy and not how cozy and romantic it was.

“I’ll leave you two to decide for a while, shall I?” she said happily. She patted Ichigo on the shoulder, hard, and shook her head. Leaning down, she whispered: “Finally. I was beginning to worry about you, boy.”

“Not everyone is lucky enough to meet their princess in high school,” Ichigo pointed out a bit glumly, especially knowing that this thing with Renji was so not what she thought it was.

Orihime, as if sensing she was being talked about, waved at him from the kitchen.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Tatsuki said. “The leek and bacon burger is to die for. And not nearly as weird as it sounds.”

“There’s a comfort,” Renji muttered, clearly a little taken aback by some of the odder choices on the menu.

Once Tatsuki had moved off to greet more customers, Renji snapped down the menu. He leaned his forearms on the table and focused Ichigo in his intense stare. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I know you’re the new guy, so I’m going to tell you something in confidence. I’m trusting you not to fuck this up for me, because we’re both friends of Rukia. Can I?”

“Trust me?” Ichigo supposed now was NOT the time to mention the whole we-used-to-be-criminals-witness-protection-thing. Besides, Ichigo really wanted to hear what this was about. “Yeah, you can trust me.”

“Right, so, I’m supposed to be investigating Urahara Shoten. My captain and I are on orders from Central.”

“Investigating?” Ichigo looked at the paisley shirt and crazy hair for a long moment before saying, “No way you’re a cop.”

“It’s called undercover, ya dip.”

Ichigo snorted. “WAY undercover.”

“Shut up, this is serious,” Renji said. “If Rukia is involved with the Shoten, everything’s fucked up. I got to make a report. You think it’s going to make a shit of difference to Captain Kuchiki if I tell him I saw his sister here?”

“Kuchiki? Wait, are you saying that Rukia’s brother is a police captain?”

Renji nodded. “And only the most hard ass on the whole force. He’ll fucking arrest her personally if he thinks she’s involved in this stuff.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Ichigo said.

“You’re telling me,” Renji said.

“What are we going to do?”

Renji shook his head. He turned his eyes to the wall, frowning at it for a long time. Finally, he said, “Well, I know one thing. I’m going to be lying to my captain tonight. But, I ain’t going to be able to stall for very long. He’s not the kind you can keep in the dark forever. So, we’re going to have to figure out how deep in Rukia is. Then we’re going to have to get her out of it.”

#

Even though Ichigo tried to warn Renji off anything on the special menu, Renji ended up eyeing the leek special very nervously when it arrived. After the waitress left, Renji picked up the bun and showed it to Ichigo. “I didn’t think the leek would be sticking outta it.”

Ichigo just nodded as he bit into the traditional cheeseburger he’d ordered. “I told you.”

Renji put the bun back on top of the burger and shoved a few of the rosemary fries in his mouth. As he chewed, he glanced around. “Is it just me or is this place kind of gay?”

Ichigo’s heart sank, and so he muttered. “It’s just you.”

“Huh, okay,” Renji said, and took a bite out of his burger. His eyes went very wide, but then he started chewing vigorously. “Yeah, well, it’s a bit of a shock, but I’ve had worse.” He took another bite, “Yeah, it kind of grows on you after a while.”

“Well, be sure to tell Orihime that. She doesn’t get a lot of compliments on her experiments,” Ichigo said, reaching for the ketchup. After squirting a pile onto his plate, he frowned. “Is it drugs?”

Renji looked over the burger again. “I think it’s just a weird combination of flavors.”

“No, you idiot, I mean that Urahara is selling,” Ichigo said, setting the ketchup bottle back in its holder. “I saw this Pez dispenser thing in Rukia’s hands, with bunny ears. Anyway, a coffee shop that sells ‘candy’? It seems like a big metaphor, doesn’t it?”

“It’s something like that,” Renji said a bit cagily, like maybe they were getting into official police territory. Ichigo opened his mouth to say ‘in for a penny, in for a pound, damn it,’ but Renji seemed to have made the same decision at the same time. “Thing is, the department hasn’t gotten their hands on it yet, but the word is that Urahara is some kind of cooker, you know: a scientist type. Whatever is hitting the streets from that shoten is highly experimental.”

“And Rukia is taking it?” The thought horrified Ichigo. She couldn’t be a druggie. No way. Her eyes had been clear and bright. Her hands were steady, strong. No, it didn’t seem right.

“Let’s hope she’s just acting as a courier,” Renji said, biting into his burger again.

“That’s better?”

“Not really,” Renji admitted. “I don’t suppose you can think of a way I could get closer to Urahara, can you?”

Ichigo sighed, taking a long sip of his soda. “I don’t even know if I still have a job tomorrow.”

“Well, if you do, you don’t suppose you could figure out a way I could legitimately hang around lot?”

Since Ichigo figured this was possibly the smoothest he’d ever be in his life, he didn’t even bat an eye when he said, “You could pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Renji swallowed his water wrong and for a moment Ichigo thought this was going to end with him having to give the Heimlich. After a second of getting himself under control, Renji’s face was beet red, nearly matching his hair, but he said: “Oh! Uh, Boyfriend, huh? Well, okay, sure, why not? Yeah, that’d work. I could do that.”

Ichigo hid his smile in his soda glass. “Cool.”

#

“Okay, you big moron,” Ichigo said when he’d settled the bill and they were back out on the street, “I’m going to give you a fucking clue, since you don’t seem to have one. I would never date anyone so fucking over-the-top. Stop trying to be a flaming queen. That’s not how it works.”

“Oh,” Renji had the sense to look chagrined at least. “Too much?”

“You think?!” Ichigo smacked him on the arm. “Stop prancing around; just be yourself. You sure you were in undercover? Because acting natural doesn’t really seem to be your thing. AT. ALL.”

Renji’s shoulders slumped. “I did the yakuza gig. I know how to act like a mafia tough, okay? I grew up around that stuff.”

“That isn’t yakuza ink,” Ichigo said, pointing to Renji’s face. 

“No, that’s just my own personal thing,” Renji said. “Besides already having tats meant I didn’t have get more, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” Ichigo said in understanding, “That’s weirdly smart. Otherwise you’d be marked by a particular family for life.” 

Renji nodded. They were walking in the direction of the University. Ichigo had an evening class and Renji agreed to walk with him a bit more. They’d planned to trade a few stories so their relationship cover would be at least plausible. 

“So… uh,” Renji glanced over at Ichigo, and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “How did you… uh, I mean, when did you know you were… erm, into guys?”

Ichigo shrugged. He still didn’t really know anything for sure, which was fucking ridiculous given that he was nineteen years old. He’d gotten through high school by glaring at everyone and keeping them at arm’s length. He might have tried dating Orihime if Tatsuki hadn’t gotten to her first. Hell, he’d have considered Tatsuki, too, but… well, see above. Keigo totally wanted to date him, but there just wasn’t a spark there. Honestly, Keigo was just too desperate to be attractive, and keeping him out of bed was so much harder when they were in the same house. Thank the gods the sister was so crazy and was totally on to Keigo’s intentions. 

The guy Ichigo was attracted to, Chad, was really very straight, despite the fact that he went completely gooey in the presence of any adorable small animal. So unfair.

Honestly, this seemed to be a problem. All the guys Ichigo found super-good looking all seemed to be these big, bruiser, straight-guy types.

A glance at Renji made him nod: case and point.

“I dunno,” Ichigo said finally, realizing he hadn’t yet answered Renji’s question. “I don’t actually think about this kind of thing that much. I kind of just am what I am. You know, I see a thing and I either like it or don’t.”

Renji seemed to think that made sense and he nodded. “Yeah, I can get that. Rukia’s brother makes me think I could pitch for the other side, you know, under the right circumstances. He’s the prettiest man I’ve ever known. Kinda breathtaking, honestly.”

Great! A rival for my fake boyfriend’s affection already, Ichigo grumbled internally. 

It might have bummed Ichigo out completely, if Renji hadn’t added: “It’s a shame he’s such a raging asshole and we have literally nothing in common.”

“Not even Rukia?”

Renji frowned, considering. As the sun set, the shadows grew long and the electric streetlight flickered to life. Cars hummed by on the busy roads. The fishy smell of the river hung in the cool evening air. As they walked along a chain link fence, Renji ran his fingers along the steel making it thrum.

“I suppose we have that,” Renji said finally. “But, it’s like I said. She and I… it was like we were raised together, but I lost her when she came here and the captain’s family adopted her. I suppose I could have reached out, but when I was in Kenpachi’s squad things got pretty dirty. I was in it deep and pretty much was living the thug’s life. That’s no place to drag anyone down to, you know? Not that I got that kind of power over someone like Rukia, anyway.”

Ichigo let out a little sigh and admitted, “You sound like you really love her.”

“Do I?” Renji sounded surprised. “I don’t know if it’s like that. She was a good friend. Family.”

“And now she’s in your boss’s family? Is that weird?”

“Totally,” Renji agreed. 

They’d gotten to the main door of the Community College and stopped just to one side, at the bottom of the wide set of stairs. Ichigo wasn’t sure what to say. Maybe they should make plans to meet-up tomorrow? He tugged his ear, glancing around Renji to the school parking lot. Students passed them going to and from class, checking their phones.

Phones!

Ichigo should totally get Renji’s number. Ichigo dug in his pocket to fetch his phone. Then, he looked up to ask for Renji’s number when all of a sudden there were Renji’s lips on his. Ichigo was so surprised that he met him open-mouthed. Renji seemed to take this as some kind of encouragement because a tongue flicked out. Ichigo’s eyes went wide in surprise and he said, “What are you even doing?”

“Kissing ya, ain’t that what boyfriends do?” Renji asked. This time he grabbed the back of Ichigo’s neck and pressed their faces together fiercely.

Despite the awkward way his hand holding the phone was now jammed up against Renji’s chest, Ichigo had to admit that Renji was a pretty good kisser. He plunged his tongue in with confidence and took the lead, leaving Ichigo to rush to catch up and participate or get left behind. It was kind of a heady rush and there went Ichigo’s heart again, all ‘doki doki’ like some fucking romance manga. Ichigo’s other hand found the short hairs of Renji’s sideburns, which felt amazing under his fingers. The moment would have been perfect if Renji’s lips weren’t lightly greasy from the burger and he didn’t taste quite so much of leeks and something funky like cardamom.

When someone wolf whistled them, Renji pulled out of the kiss. Ichigo was afraid his pupils might be willdly dilated, giving him completely away, so he quickly looked down and thrust the phone into Renji’s face: “Number!”

“Oh, right,” Renji let go of Ichigo’s neck to take the phone and type his digits in. Ichigo took a step back while he did, trying to get some air and cool down. Was it suddenly really hot outside? His whole body felt flushed, like he’d run a marathon. Ichigo tried to not notice the way Renji’s shirt rode up just a little when he dug the phone out of his jeans. “Here,” he said, handing the phone back, “Now gimme yours.”

Ichigo willed his fingers not to shake as he typed in his information. He was so much cooler than this; what was wrong with him, anyway? “If I still have a job, my start time is five. I’m there until one.”

“Great,” Renji said, snatching back his phone just as the bell rang. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ichigo looked up just in time to see Renji’s backward wave and watch the last of the fading sun glint like blood in that crazy crimson topknot.

Fuck. This was such a bad idea.

#

Ichigo spent so much time thinking about that spontaneous kiss that he almost forgot the whole point of why it had happened in the first place. At least, he had, until Rukia came rushing into class, late. She made her excuses and slipped into her desk. They sat some distance from each other and Ichigo tried to will her to look up at him. Instead, she seemed determined not to make eye contact at all.

Well, screw that. 

He pulled out his phone and texted: ‘I got the job. Maybe you noticed?’

After hitting send, he watched her get the message and read it. Finally, she met his gaze and stuck her tongue out at him.

He smiled and sent another text: ‘You’re okay, tho, right?’

She read this one with a little frown between her eyebrows. She stared at the screen a long time before replying. “Nothing I can’t handle.’

Ichigo doubted that, but he nodded and sent back:‘ Cool. Wanna grab drinks after class?’

He figured she say no, but it never hurt to ask. Setting the phone aside, he tried to pick back up with where the lecturer was. It wasn’t too hard. He’d been two years into medical school, after all. But, Ichigo tried to pay attention, anyway. A lot of this stuff was new enough, even if it was boring as sin. The practical classes were the ones he preferred, but he had to pass them all to get the license. So, he let himself get lost in the half-listening and note taking and doodling in the margins. It was only when class was nearly over that Ichigo noticed that Rukia had said, ‘Sure, why not?’

#

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing with Urahara-san,” Rukia said, even though Ichigo hadn’t brought up the subject at all. In fact, he’d very carefully made small talk about the lecturer the whole way to the akachōchin. The red light lantern hung in front of the door that Ichigo opened for her.

“How come you wanted me to work there, then, huh?” Ichigo asked, as she passed under his arm. “You’re the one who told me to get a job there. If you didn’t want me to see you doing your drug trade or whatever, maybe you should’ve told me to apply at the green grocers instead.”

She wrinkled her nose and her lips made a very thin line. 

Ichigo let out a frustrated breath as they made their way through the crowd to an empty table. “I hope you’re not setting me up. It’s not like it’s not obvious they’re doing underworld trade.”

She perched on the barstool. Her feet didn’t reach the floor and she tucked her shoes under the first set of rungs. “Setting you up? What do you mean?”

He glared at her. Did she really not know? Ichigo was beginning to be suspicious between getting this job and an undercover cop showing up within five minutes. “Forget it,” he said.

Waving, Ichigo caught a server’s attention. The place was packed with college students taking advantage of the two-for-one special advertised in the window. A very harried waitress made it over in a few minutes though and took their orders.

The waitress had deposited a coaster in front of them both and Ichigo turned his on its side and rolled it over on its edges, like a square wheel. He was trying to decide if he should tell Rukia, after all. Dad was well out of the business. The way Dad told it, he’d made the move for Mom and that was before Ichigo was even born. But Mom had still died for this nasty business, though, hadn’t she? And that had been Ichigo’s fault.

Rukia was watching him. Finally, she said, “I know you won’t believe it. But I’m trying to protect this town.”

Another undercover cop? How many jobs did she have? She was already studying to be an EMT and she had that part-time gig at the maid café. 

But before he could ask any of that, Rukia continued, “This friend of mine, well, mentor really--he and his partner run a blog—the kind of investigative news blog that blows huge holes in… well, everything, really, the fabric of the universe. Like that Snowden guy.”

“So you’re gathering information for this person?” Ichigo asked. “What are you hoping to expose?”

“A huge mafia operation,” she said. From her courier bag, she pulled out a pen. Pulling a napkin from the holder, she started scribbling. “Let me draw you a picture.”

#

Ichigo scalded himself more than once the next morning. Not only was he exhausted from staying up so late, but also his mind was filled with the disturbing image of major Mafioso players as bunnies.

With a shake of his head, he dumped the burnt milk down the drain and started again.

Everyone was yelling at him—especially Ishida who finally pushed him away from the espresso machine and told him to stay at the register. Of course, this meant Ichigo was in charge of putting names on cups. He gave exactly zero fucks this morning, so he didn’t even pretend. Cups went to Ishida with names like, “Dumb haircut” and “Mustache issues.”

“Ichigo! Ichigo!” Someone new was yelling at him, but this time it seemed to be with concern.

Ichigo looked up to see Keigo pushing his way to the front of the line, “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re okay! You didn’t come home last night and—“

Ichigo started to open his mouth to explain that he’d had so much on his mind that he’d ended up walking home on automatic pilot. His key still worked so he’d spent the night in his own bed and treated himself to a Yuzu home cooked breakfast. Karin and Dummo Dad never saw him, since they both were still sound asleep when Ichigo left at four-fucking-thirty dark.

But, before he could explain any of that to Keigo, Ichigo once again found himself on the receiving end of an unexpected kiss on the mouth. 

A hand snaked out and cupped his chin, drawing their mouths together. Since his eyes stayed open, Ichigo knew it was Renji, even though old reflexes had him grabbing Renji’s hand, ready to twist his wrist. This kiss was fierce and quick, and ended with Renji smiling and saying, “’Morning, lover,” despite the fact that Ichigo grip was pinching tendons.

Ichigo let go of Renji’s wrist with a, “Stop that, you know I hate that.”

Renji just laughed like this was already an old joke between them. Snatching Ichigo’s hand, he brought knuckles to his lips and kissed those. “Sorry, babe.”

Keigo looked ready to burst. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he looked Renji up and down. Renji was quite a sight, to be fair. Maybe he thought the outfit made him look more ‘gay,’ or perhaps he’d actually taken Ichigo’s advice to ‘act naturally’ and his natural state just happened to be half-naked. 

This morning Renji wore a very form-fitting undershirt, the kind people called ‘wife-beaters.’ Thus, not only were many of Renji’s tattoos on display but also a whole lot of finely sculpted muscles. He’d done something to his hair that made it look very ‘I just rolled out of a very comfy bed,’—a very loose braid hung down over his shoulder. Without even thinking, Ichigo reached out to tug the ruby strand and said, “Nice.”

Without prompting, Renji kissed his knuckles again, and said, “Ain’t you going to tell your friend I’m the reason you didn’t make it home last night?”

“Uh…” Ichigo blushed, but said, “I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” To Keigo, he said, “This is Renji Abarai. Renji, meet Keigo Asano.”

The disappointment was painfully obvious on Keigo’s face as he said, “Oh. Right. Nice to meet you.” But, Keigo, being Keigo, had to say just a little too much, didn’t he? Because, he continued: “Well, I guess this is better than what I thought… since I’d heard you started working here that maybe someone had found out about your past and—“

Ichigo had to literally put his other hand over Keigo’s mouth. “So, you want your usual skim mocha, Renji?”

Renji looked at where Ichigo’s hand stayed firmly over Keigo’s mouth for a few seconds before, shrugging. Dropping the hand he’d been kissing, Renji said, “Yeah, sure. Try not to make it too hot.”

“No worries,” Ichigo said. Taking his hand off Keigo, he wrote Renji’s name on the cup along with his order. He nodded in the direction of Ishida, who was so busy at the espresso machine he didn’t seem to have noticed anything that had just happened at the register. “We got the last of the coffee artisans on the job today. The pride of his people is on the line, you know.”

“I heard that, Kurosaki!” Ishida snarled. His glasses were fogged over from all the steam. 

Ichigo laughed good-naturedly. To Renji he said, “Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll bring it over when I have a break.”

Renji nodded and went to find a spot by one of the few windows. 

Keigo watched Renji move off. His mouth hung open in awe or lust or both. “You go from zero to sixty, don’t you?”

Ichigo rang up the next order and shrugged. “Can you even try to be less of a moron?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about nearly spilling the beans,” Keigo said, leaning his elbows on the counter, like he planned to hang out. “I just… well, I told you. Thing is, Mizuiro nearly shit a brick when I told him where you’d gotten a job. He never loses his cool, so that scared the shit out of me. And then you didn’t come home…”

“You of all people should know I can take care of myself,” Ichigo said, putting another cup into the queue that said ‘Bad Hair Day’ on it.

“Yeah, but usually Chad is around, and with his band on tour….”

“I was fine before I met Chad, you know. Seriously, Keigo, you worry too much,” Ichigo said with a nod at Renji as if to say ‘see, I was doing something fun.’

Keigo followed Ichigo’s gaze, and nodded appreciatively. “Wow, you have a type, don’t you?”

Ichigo knew he should never have drunkenly confessed his attraction to Chad. He made a mental note to never, ever tell Keigo anything important again. “What? Thug?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Keigo said. “No wonder you never went for me. I’m far too pretty.”

Ichigo smacked Keigo playfully on the head with the empty cup he’d just finished labeling ‘Ubiquitous Salaryman.’ 

Ishida was starting to complain. “I can’t keep calling out these things you’re writing on the cups, Kurosaki. People are insulted.”

“Okay,” Ichigo said. “You want me to make the drinks?”

Ishida waved his hands in warning. “No! No, it’s fine!”

#

When the crowd died down, Ichigo joined Renji over by the window. He plunked the skinny mocha down in front of Renji’s elbow and said, “You seriously have to stop kissing me like that.”

“Why?” Renji asked.

Ichigo sat down in the chair opposite him. “Because—“ Ichigo faltered momentarily because the real reason was that it was very distracting and very bad for his heart. He was liable to forget they were pretending and that would be… frustrating. “I’m really not a PDA kind of guy, all right? Also, I could hurt you if you keep surprising me.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Renji flexed his wrist. “Judo?”

Ichigo made a noncommittal noise, because, yes, but also ‘Dummo Dad’s school of hard knocks,’ which was awkward to explain. “Rukia told me last night that she’s doing her own sting operation on this place for some blogger friend of hers,” Ichigo said. He leaned his back against the warm glass of the window and stretched his arm over the back of the chair. “She drew me a picture. Of bunnies. It was horrifying.”

“Don’t knock Rukia’s art,” Renji said seriously, like he was personally offended on Rukia’s behalf. He took a sip of his mocha. “That’s a relief, I guess. So long as she’s well away from this place when the shit hits the fan.”

Ichigo nodded. Steam covered the window and little rivulets of condensed moisture dripped down the glass. “Did you have to talk to your captain?”

“I got to make reports,” Renji said, his voice low. He glanced over his shoulder as though checking to make sure they weren’t overheard. “But I didn’t mention Rukia’s name, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Did you mention mine?”

“I didn’t go into specifics,” Renji said. “I just told him I made friendly with one of the barista as a cover.”

Ichigo laughed and pointed at Renji accusingly, “You didn’t tell him I’m a guy, did you?”

Renji’s nose turned an adorable shade of red. “It didn’t seem important.”

“And yet you kiss me any chance you get,” Ichigo said teasingly. 

“I’m playing a part,” Renji grumped.

“Sure.” Ichigo smiled. “Sure.”

#

They settled into a routine after that. Renji came in every morning and greeted Ichigo with a kiss. They’d chat, and, with not much going on, they’d talk about all sorts of things. It was easy to forget all the stuff going on in the back room. Ichigo saw Rukia go back once or twice, but he started to think maybe she did have it all under control, after all.

Ichigo should have known there’d be trouble, because it started to feel like he had a real boyfriend.

#

The text from Renji was really cryptic and it made Ichigo’s stomach drop out. 

It read: ‘I can’t stop him.’ 

Ichigo stared at it a long time, trying to parse what it could really mean. He wasn’t at all sure, but something about it had him turning around, heading back to the shoten at a brisk walk. The freaked out feeling kept crawling along his skin as he stared at those words: 'I can't stop him.' Can't stop who? And why was Renji telling him? 

Because Ichigo could do something that Renji couldn't. Ichigo hit speed-dial as he wove around the people on the street. The afternoon sun bore down on him. Slow time at the shoten. Fuck. Rukia could be there.

The phone picked up and Ichigo didn't wait for an answer before yelling,, “Just get out. For fuck sake, if you’re there, get out!”

He snapped the phone shut and saw another message from Renji: ‘Fucker jumped the gun. Doesn’t trust me. Orders from above changed all of a sudden.’

Oh shit.

Him. The person Renji couldn’t stop was that hard ass brother of Rukia’s, the police captain. Oh-double-shit.

Ichigo broke into a run.

Ichigo rounded the corner, rushing past the familiar graffiti splattered wall. The second the shoten came in sight, he knew he was too late. A police car sat at the curb, its lights flashing. Renji came out the front door with Rukia in handcuffs. 

Dropping his courier bag, Ichigo hauled back and punched Renji, hard in the jaw. “You fucking bastard. Let her go!”

Much scarier in his cop persona and in full uniform, Renji stumbled back in surprise, but didn’t even hesitate as reached for his billy club and swung it. Ichigo dropped low, avoiding the club. He could hear it whiz over his head, as he punched Renji in the gut. When Renji doubled over, Ichigo used is other hand to shove Renji’s head toward the wall. Renji went sprawling in a stumble. Ichigo was turning, ready to grab Rukia and his courier bag where the plastic cutting tool was hidden, just for these types of situations, but he never got the chance.

A painful jolt of electricity shocked through Ichigo. His whole body seized and he dropped to the ground, overcome by tremors.

“Aw, captain, I had this,” Renji said.

“So I see,” said a very disdainful voice. 

Ichigo had just enough energy to turn his head to look. Renji was right about his captain. Byakuya Kuchiki was one of the most elegant men Ichigo had ever seen, but Renji had not accurately described how cold he was. His expression was empty, hollowed-out… frigid. He held a taser gun in his hand.

“Bastard,” Ichigo croaked. A shaking hand reached out and grabbed a neatly pressed cuff as Byakuya walked past him. Byakuya glared down at him. His icy gray eyes piercing. 

“I should arrest you for assaulting an officer.”

Renji’s foot lashed out, kicking Ichigo’s hand away. “Oi, get yer hands off, punk.”

Ichigo glared murderously at Renji. He was pretty sure the look was ruined by the uncontrollable drool, but fuck him, anyway—Ichigo knew he was covering his own ass, but what a fucking show off! Was he trying to impress that ice queen captain? Ichigo didn’t think it was working. 

As they bundled Rukia into the car and drove off, Ichigo could do nothing except watch helplessly from the ground.

Then it started to rain.

# 

Urahara helped Ichigo inside. He settled Ichigo near the fireplace, gave him a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate. Ishida sat at the table he and Renji usually favored with Tessai applying a plaster to his cheek. Apparently, Ishida had tussled with Renji, too.

“Your boyfriend is a dick,” Ishida muttered.

Rain dripped from Ichigo’s hair as he bent his head over the mug of chocolate. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Fucking traitorous bastard.”

“Ah, indeed?” Urahara said, from where he leaned a shoulder up against the mantle of the fireplace. The suspicion in his voice was palpable, so Ichigo decided he couldn’t lie. Anyway, he kind of didn’t give much of a shit what kind of business Urahara was up to. Ichigo knew Japanese justice. Rukia would go to jail and rot there if they didn’t rescue her. 

“Yeah,” Ichigo said, meeting Urahara’s gaze. “Fucker was supposed to help Rukia not get arrested. Not goddamn haul her in himself.”

“You knew he was a cop?” Urahara asked. Again, his voice was smooth, unthreatening.

“Just like I know you’re a drug lord or something,” Ichigo said. “None of you people are exactly stealthy, if I can tell.”

Urahara’s eyes widened slightly, and he chuckled. “Ah, Tessai, we’re been schooled in subterfuge by Ichigo Kurosaki.” The way Urahara said Ichigo’s surname, he knew that Urahara was well aware of who he really was.

So, Ichigo just rolled his eyes like it was no big deal and said, “You mean Shiba. Seriously, Hat-and-Clogs, do you really take me for that much of a mug? Why the hell else did you hire me? It’s not for my barista skills.”

“No kidding,” Ishida said quietly.

“He’s got you there, boss,” Tessai said. He stood up, having finished ministering to Ishida’s bruises. “You going to really let him in now, or not?”

Intense eyes slid away thoughtfully for a long moment. The fan came up and a heavy sigh was hidden behind it. “You want to save your friend?”

Ichigo wasn't sure if Urahara meant Renji or Rukia, but it didn't really matter. "Dude. I'd do anything."

The fan snapped shut. “Excellent.”


	2. Keikaku Intensifies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperate to rescue Rukia, Ichigo agrees to Urahra's crazy "plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this in my docs folder and thought I might as well attach it!

When Urahara told him to play it cool for a week, Ichigo nearly lost his mind. Rukia had been arrested. This was no time to sit still. “You know the police have a hundred percent conviction rate, right? One hundred percent. That should freak you out just a little, because nobody is that good.”

Urahara sat behind his desk in the backroom of the coffee shop. Ostensibly, he was going through the inventory checklist, but it looked more like he was just shuffling paper from one pile to another in order to keep up the appearances of being busy. 

“I’m well aware of the foibles of the justice system.” Urahara’s voice sounded momentarily tired, before he put on that fake cheerfulness that fooled no one, especially with his eyes shaded and hidden like that. “For the plan to work, we need to practice patience, Kurosaki-san!”

Ichigo leaned a shoulder against one of the nearby file cabinets and scowled. Urahara’s cramped office was the same odd mixture of old and new as the coffee shop that bore his name. On the Western-style wooden desk was a heavy, black antique rotary phone, three different iThings, a bright white and pink Hello Kitty paperweight, and a delicate teapot and bowls that Ichigo was fairly certain came from the samurai era. Metal file cabinets lined the walls of the cramped room, except for one corner where there was a tansu that had a starkly arranged ikebana sitting on it. Above that, hung a watercolor of a bakeneko, a shape-shifting cat that seemed to be in the process of transforming into a dark-skinned naked woman.

“About this plan of yours,” Ichigo said finally. “How’s it going to work again?”

Urahara met Ichigo’s gaze then, his gray eyes sharp and piercing like a hawk’s. “You know how it works,” he said simply. “The problem is you don’t like it.”

“Of course I don’t like it,” Ichigo snarled, shifting his feet. “It makes me into a fucking grass. My Doofus Dad might actually kill me, you know.”

“I highly doubt Isshin Shiba would murder his only male heir.” At Ichigo’s exasperated expression Urahara smiled, “Ah, you were being metaphorical. Regardless, as an informant you will be in a position to gather information for me, as well. We know Rukia’s arrest was a set-up. Despite claiming it was a drug bust, they came without a warrant to search. Neither Tessai nor I were even taken in for questioning. They’ve all but disappeared Rukia. They’re expecting a move from us; they might even suspect you’re a double agent. But a turncoat Shiba will be impossible for them to resist.”

“Yeah, see, it’s that turncoat thing I don’t like. That’s my fucking reputation, you know: shot.”

Urahara sat back. The springs of the office chair creaked. Steepling his long-boned fingers in front of his face, Urahara gave Ichigo a hard stare before finally saying, “You said you’d do anything for your friend. Did you lie?”

“No,” Ichigo grumped, his eyes sliding away. But, damn if, Urahara would ask for the one thing that would kill him—destroy everything he ever thought he was.

“Patience, grasshopper,” Urahara teased. “If we move too fast they won’t believe you have anything of value to give them. You have to be seen getting in deeper with us.”

It made Ichigo’s whole body pull tight with unspent energy to have to wait like this. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Meanwhile, you know they’re torturing a confession out of her. That’s how they get their fucking 100%. My whole family went through that.”

“Mine, too,” Urahara said so quietly Ichigo almost missed it.

At that Ichigo, let out a breath, “Fine. Where am I delivering today?”

Urahara smiled and picked up a folded piece of paper. Handing it over, he said in a happy tone that didn’t match his words at all: “Things might get rough!”

Tucking the slip of paper into his pocket, Ichigo shook his head at himself and his crazy-ass predicament. How sad was it that this shady-sociopathic-motherfucker was his best hope?

#

Ichigo tucked the box up under his armpit as he leaned on the counter of the koban, the police box, as he waited for the cop to check through his map. This was the most ridiculous part of ‘the plan.’ Ichigo felt like he was walking around with a giant sign that said ‘MOVING CONTRABAND, PLEASE NOTICE ME.’ But, whatever. It wasn’t like it was easy to find anyone’s address in this stupid town. It’d probably be more suspicious to be a delivery guy who didn’t ask for directions.

“Any luck?” Ichigo asked the cop.

The cop laid his map down and pointed to a tangle of streets just across the way. “I think what you want is just over there. Apartment 127?” The cop shook his head. “Just so you know, I’m pretty sure those guys are gangsters.”

Ichigo laughed. You think? But he shrugged, “I’m just the coffee delivery guy.”

The cop nodded. “My advice? Get in and out fast. Call if you need us.”

“Right,” Ichigo said, trying to decide if he should be seriously nervous or not. He looked at the name on the slip again: ‘Ichimaru Gin.’ Kind of a creepy name, too. Glancing over the road at the building the cop had indicated, Ichigo adjusted the dorky shoten hat and steeled himself. Ichigo hopped back onto the Vespa he’d left at the curb, secured the ‘package,’ and headed off. With a backwards wave, he shouted a “thanks!” to the cop.

Sure enough, the cop was already on the phone to someone to report him.

He guessed that meant things were going according to plan.

#

There was nothing safe about Gin Ichimaru. He looked high as a fucking kite when he answered his door, with that shit-eating grin and eyes that refused to open all the way.

“Come in,” he beckoned, but Ichigo shook his head.

“I’m just supposed to give you this.” Ichigo thrust the box at Ichimaru, because, seriously, no way was he going anywhere behind closed doors with this creepy-ass dude. Tall and gaunt-thin, he was, at least, not dressed like a stoner. Instead, he wore a tailored business suit. Charcoal gray pants had threads of silver woven in a barely visible checked pattern. On top of that, he had a black silk shirt and a pearly white jacket. But, the most striking thing about him was his silver-white hair that hung in wispy strands over his eyebrows and framed his too-thin, foxy face.

If Ichigo wasn’t all grown-up and given to flights of fantasy, he’d absolutely believe all those ghost stories and think Ichimaru was a kitsune—a fox demon. He half wanted to say “Moshi, moshi” just to make sure this guy could really say it twice.

Because part of Ichigo doubted he could.

“I ain’t planning on handing you money standing out here in the open, boy,” Ichimaru drawled. He waved in the direction of the police box Ichigo had just come from, “We’d have the ‘welcoming committee’ on our ass in a heartbeat. Get in. Or get lost.”

Ichigo was fairly certain ‘not delivering’ was not part of ‘the plan.’ So despite every instinct telling him to run, he stepped over the threshold into Ichimaru’s apartment. When the door clicked shut behind him, Ichigo’s stomach tightened. Even in the tiny foyer, the place stank of opium, sweet and pungent, hanging in the air like incense. The lights were switched off, and so the rest of the apartment was lost to a dark maw of shadows and dark, like the entrance to a fox den. 

He had to stop freaking himself out. 

“Right, so here’s the goods,” Ichigo said. He set the package on the nearest surface, which seemed to be a slender built-in bench for removing shoes. “Let’s do this, because, uh, I have other places to go.”

Ichimaru’s smile was far too knowing, like the fucking Cheshire cat. “No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” Ichigo said. “The truth is, I want to get the fuck out of here because you’re creepy as sin.”

Ichimaru dipped his head and touched his nose, as if to say, ‘yes, that’s me.’ “Hmmm,” Ichimaru said lazily, “I think I like you. You’re a far spot better than those ankle-biters Urahara usually sends.”

Urahara used to send Jinta and Ururu? What the actual fuck? And who did they belong to? When this was all over, Ichigo was seriously considering calling child protection services.

Ichigo held out his hand. “Pay up.”

Ichimaru just smiled. “Or what?”

Did this creep even know what a pleasure it would be to punch that smile off his face? “Don’t play this game with me,” Ichigo said. “You won’t win.”

“How scary,” Ichimaru breathed, though he clearly thought the opposite. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, making Ichigo flinch, expecting a gun. Apparently pleased at this reaction, his smile widened as he pulled out a thick roll of yen bills, instead.

“Fucker,” Ichigo muttered, irritated at having been taken in by that trick.

When he placed the money in Ichigo’s hand, Ichimaru’s cold, claw-like hand gripped him tightly and held on just a little longer than was comfortable. Ichigo’s skin crawled at the unwanted touch, and Ichigo used a Judo trick to break Ichimaru’s grip. 

Then Ichigo turned his back to Ichimaru and let himself out the door. He didn’t even look back when he heard a happy singsong, “Bye-bye!”

#

Back at the coffee shop, Ichigo parked the Vespa next to Tessai’s windowless van. He looked at the ‘Magical Mysterious Bus’ and visions of kidnapping small children raced through his head. He shook off that thought and muttered to himself, ‘Seriously, is no one not creepy as fuck around here?’

When he opened the back door, Ichigo nearly bounced off Tessai’s massive chest. Before he could say ‘sorry,’ Ichigo found himself wrapped in a giant bear hug. “Mmfph, too close!” he managed to squeak into Tessai’s pectorals.

“You’re alive!” Tessai boomed happily, finally letting him go.

“Yeah, no thanks to the boss,” Ichigo said, enduring a hearty shoulder shake, which was, at least, at arm’s length. “What the fuck, did you seriously send Ururu to that Ichimaru guy on a regular basis?”

Tessai released Ichigo and… maybe looked guilty? It was super-hard to tell under those reflective glasses. “She’s much tougher than she looks.”

“I sure as shit hope so,” Ichigo said. From his courier bag, he dug out the wad of bills and gave them to Tessai. He didn’t quite trust himself not to smack Urahara in the head on general principles. “Next time I’m going in armed. I felt way outclassed.”

“Armed with what?” asked Urahara, who had suddenly appeared in the ninja way he had. He snatched the money from Ichigo deftly.

“Mace? A pocket knife?” Ichigo shrugged, “I’m pretty sure that guy had a gun.”

“Oh, he does,” Urahara said lightly. 

“Great,” Ichigo muttered, and made a mental note to stop by his aunt Kukaku’s place and see what kind of illegal firepower she had. Of course, he’d have to find her. She moved all over the goddamn place. 

#

Ichigo spent a few hours making too hot mochas and lattes for the evening rush. He hated himself for it, but every time the cowbell clanged over the door, Ichigo looked up, hopeful. Every time, he was disappointed not to see a shock of red hair and that crooked, wolfish grin.

By rights, he should hate Renji. 

He’d let that big galoot into his heart and Renji had stomped all over it. For all Ichigo knew, Renji had never been sincere, not for one moment, when he’d promised to help Rukia stay out of trouble. It could have been all a ruse to figure out when she’d be there so it’d be easier for them to swoop in and nab her in the act.

But that didn’t seem right. Why bother texting a warning if that was the case?

Also, Rukia was a small time operator. As far as Ichigo knew, she didn’t really do that much other than buy a few pills from Urahara. You wouldn’t think they’d have invested so much energy into someone of her caliber, not when Urahara had been sitting right there the whole time. 

Something wasn’t right.

That was the whole reason Ichigo believed in Urahara’s plan. Someone else was pulling the police’s strings, they had to be—even Renji had implied as much with his second text: ‘orders changed.’

Ishida nudged Ichigo’s elbow. “Are you in there? I said, ‘a skinny mocha’”

Renji’s drink. Despite himself, Ichigo glanced at the register. But, no, it wasn’t him. Only another ubiquitous salaryman. With a sigh, Ichigo started the drink.

#

Standing on the platform waiting for the bullet train to take him to Osaka, Ichigo felt a brief pang of guilt. He should be in class. According to the station’s clock, it had started five minutes ago.

It was going to be his new life, being an EMT, like Rukia. 

Sticking ear buds in his ears, Ichigo turned up the volume on his iPod. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

Turns out, he was never going to be anything other than a thug.

#

Ichigo had to ask around at three skeevy bars before he ran into his dumb-ass cousin Ganju. Actually, it was more like Ganju nearly ran him over on that stupid-ass Triumph Bonneville, his “Bonnie,” that he doted on. 

Ganju patted the bitch bench, as his ‘self-proclaimed’ gang roared up on their Harley hogs to idle beside him. “You’re going to get your ass kicked if you keep mentioning nee-sama’s name,” Ganju shouted over the roar of the engines. “Get on, I’ll take you to her.”

Ichigo didn’t see how he had much of a choice.

Ganju kept yapping away as they rode through the streets. He seemed to be talking about some latest caper of his—probably exaggerating the fuck out it as usual. Ichigo wasn’t really sure, since he couldn’t make out much of the story over all the noise. Luckily, Ganju didn’t seem to need much beyond the occasional ‘huh-huh’ and ‘yeah?’ so Ichigo just held on and watched the city lights rush by. 

Osaka was a city known mostly for its comedy clubs and its ‘kuidaore,’ ‘eat until you drop,’ culture, but Ichigo was fairly convinced the other thing they grew out here was neon. It was like they had more of the squiggly, flashing bars of light than they had trees. Everything pulsated with gaudy colors, making the dark night glow with an artificial light.

Aunt Kukaku seemed to love gaudy things. The nightclub Ganju and his gang rolled up to was… embarrassing. Seriously, togas? And all that faux Greek architecture? It could only be more embarrassing if it were a Hello Kitty Hooters… oh, wait,

Fabulous.

Ichigo would rather die than go inside this place. 

But, Ganju and his cohorts were parking their bikes, and Ichigo had come all this way to beg a favor from his auntie. Anyway, he’d recognize those two bouncers standing by the door anywhere. They were massive and nearly identical, down to the way they kept their Fu Man Chu mustaches trimmed. Where Kukaku had found twins like that, Ichigo’d never know.

Ganju nodded to the bouncers. They stared past him to where Ichigo stood trying very hard not to look like one of Ganju’s hangers on. The pounding bass music from inside made it impossible to hear what was said, but Ganju spoke a few words in their ears. They both leaned down to listen in the synchronistic way they had, nodded in unison, and then, in perfect harmony, each pushed open a door. Ichigo felt assaulted by the wave of music, sweat, and tobacco smoke that hit them as they walked inside. Luckily, it was a quick move through the flashing lights and gyrating bodies to the stairs that led to the basement.

The music faded to a dull overhead thrum as Ganju slid open a door. Ichigo stepped inside and it was like being transported to another world, filled with tatami flooring and shoji screens and empty, streamlined spaces. It could have been a dojo or a daimyo’s home, and so Ichigo felt a weird compulsion to bow before entering. He didn’t, though, but he did settle into seiza to wait. Beside him Ganju did the same, which was only weird because Ganju was dressed like a bad cross between biker and hip-hop. So much leather and studs mixed with over-sized jewelry and poofy cargo pants, it was embarrassing to know they were cousins.

Though, the truth was, Ganju couldn’t look more like Dummo Dad.

Never one to hurry an entrance, Kukaku made them wait until Ichigo’s legs had nearly gone numb. She finally made her grand entrance from a side door. Ganju bowed his head to the floor, like his sister was the empress, but Ichigo just watched her make her procession to the slightly raised dais. 

Her hair was its usual rat’s nest of… style? Ichigo was never quite sure if the randomly hacked look was intentional or she really just gave that few fucks. She wore a man’s suit—tailored pants and a suit coat--just a suit coat, with nothing underneath. When she sat it was tailor-fashion, like a man, and she arranged her artificial arm so that the hand of it rested on her thigh. Holding up an unlit cigarette in her hand was enough of a prompt for Ganju to leap up and light it for her. After taking a long drag, she exhaled the smoke and without any other preamble she said, “Ah, the prodigal son returns. What are you doing here, Ichigo? What makes you think I’d do anything for you?”

Ichigo wasn’t really sure, so he just told her the truth. “A friend of mine got arrested for—fuck, I’m not even sure what, maybe being a mule for Urahara—“

She sat up a little straighter. “Kisuke Urahara?”

She knew him? Ichigo nodded. “The coffee house guy, yeah.”

“Are you finally joining the family business?” She actually seemed interested now, sitting forward just enough that Ichigo saw far too much of his aunt’s breasts for his own comfort. “Are you working for Kisuke?”

Well, that was the cover, wasn’t it? “Yeah,” Ichigo said, “Which is why I came here. I need something for…you know, protection.”

She sat and smoked for a while, considering this. Somehow Ganju knew when she needed it, because he produced an ashtray from somewhere for her to stub out her cigarette. “You still remember how to use a gun?”

Dummo Dad only drilled him every day from the moment he was big enough not to be knocked over from the recoil. “I’m not going to shoot my own hand off,” Ichigo said, and then with a glance at her prosthetic added, “No offense.”

Kukaku chuckled darkly. “That gun exploded. Damn unstable prototypes.”

Ichigo said nothing. He swore the story changed every time she told it, anyway. 

Eventually she must have decided he was a good bet, because she said, “Let me show you what I have. But you tell Kisuke that he owes me one.” She beckoned him to stand up and when he came close she wrapped her good arm around him and said, “And, he can always send Yoruichi if he wants to make good on it.”

Ichigo had no idea what Kukaku was talking about, but he was pretty sure that was just as well.

#

It was late when Ichigo finally made his way back home. Kukaku insisted he be treated the best food Osaka had to offer, so he’d had kitsune odon and so many takoyaki he thought he might roll home. 

He tried to relax on the train, but there was a cold hard pressure resting against his ribs—the gun in its slender shoulder holster Kukaku insisted ‘looked hot’ on him. The gun itself was a slim and black thing. Deadly. Hard. Unyielding. Its heaviness in his hand felt like a cold iron manacle closing on his wrist, locking him to a certain fate. 

As the world rushed by at unreasonable speeds, Ichigo felt something slipping away—something that made him want to reach out and hang on.

Maybe it was all the sake Kukaku pressed into his hands, over and over, during dinner, but Ichigo found himself staring at the last text Renji had sent: ‘Fucker jumped the gun. Doesn’t trust me. Plus orders from above changed all of a sudden.’

He hit reply.

Ichigo stared at the blinking cursor for a long moment before swiping it off again. What the fuck was he going to say, anyway? ‘Miss your stupid sloppy kisses’?

He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. 

So what if it was true.

#

Ichigo was almost late for work the next morning because he had trouble finding the right clothes. It’d be a stereotype, except it wasn’t so much vanity that kept him checking the mirror, but trying to make sure the gun was both easily accessible and completely hidden.

Luckily the weather cooperated. It was cool enough outside that a denim jacket wouldn’t look too out of place, even if he wore it all day, inside.

Was it wrong that the leather of the shoulder holster was already molding itself to the contours of his body and the weight of the gun began to seem familiar, even comforting?

Even though Ichigo was certain it was well hidden, the first thing Urahara said when he saw Ichigo was, “Make sure if you pull it, you have intent.”

Ichigo said nothing, but he figured Urahara could see the truth in his steady gaze. Ichigo knew what death looked like. He’d seen people killed—murdered. He’d lain under his mother’s body as it bled out and grew cold. Too little and young to shift the corpse himself, he’d had to wait for the ambulance drivers to free him from his mother’s final embrace. 

After that, he’d never been able to hold back or pull his punches. 

“Just tell me where I’m going today, Hat and Clogs,” Ichigo said.

Urahara glanced back at the paperwork he shifted on his desk. “We’re nearly there. Your visit to Ichimaru sent up the right alarms. They’ll be looking for you now, hoping to intercept.”

“And we let them?”

“Not yet,” Urahara said. A little flick of a glance in the direction Ichigo’s gun rested under his arm made Urahara sigh. “You’ve upped the game. So we might as well press the advantage.” Urahara pulled a familiarly sized box up from under his desk and pushed it toward Ichigo. “I want you to take this to the police station.”

Ichigo almost choked. “Just waltz inside?”

“Yes,” Urahara said. “I want you to give it to one of Kenpachi’s men. You should watch yourself, though. He’s a little… unstable.”

“Worse than Ichimaru?”

“More straightforward,” Urahara said with a smile. Writing down the name and address, he handed it to Ichigo. “Have fun!”

#

Ichigo thought about ditching the gun, but after watching the police station from across the street for a few minutes it was clear there wasn’t a whole lot of security beyond the cops themselves. Switching off the engine, Ichigo unstrapped the package and left the Vespa at the curb. Probably, a smarter guy would’ve parked it closer in case a speedy getaway was needed. But, Ichigo knew that if shit went down here, he wasn’t getting out. If you started a shootout in a police station, the only way out was through the morgue, in a body bag.

It was weirdly calming, knowing that, like there was nothing left to lose.

Having never voluntarily walked into a police station before, Ichigo was glad to see there was a receptionist standing behind a counter, protected by a barrier of safety glass. All the uniformed officers and others seemed to be going in and out of a single door, using passkeys that beeped. A giant of a guard stood by the door, arms crossed, watchful. Ichigo walked over to stand in front of the receptionist. She glanced up at him, so he said, “I have a delivery for…” Ichigo checked the paper, “Ikkaku Madarame.”

She nodded and made a phone call. Through the glass, he thought he heard ‘Urahara Shoten’ but it was muffled. At any rate, after hanging up, she opened up a little pass window and handed him a guest pass that hung off a lanyard. Then on a sheet of paper, she drew a little map of the station with an x that said, “here” and another that said, “Madarame’s office.”

Ichigo looked at her map, turning it around and around. Shit. Good luck following these chicken scratches. But, he had the key, so he was legitimately in. If he got lost, so what? He had a reason to be here. So, he set the package down long enough to put the pass card over his head, thanked her, and then approached the guard at the door.

“What’s in the package?” the guard asked. The name on his uniform read: Jidanbō.

“Drugs,” Ichigo said with an honest smile. When the guard looked shocked, Ichigo said, “Caffeine. The Shoten is a coffee shop.”

“Oh, right,” the guard said with a little laugh, and stepped aside to let Ichigo in. As he walked over the threshold Ichigo thought: this is it. No turning back now.

#

The interior of the police station was a warren. Worse, all the walls and décor were office building beige and completely indistinguishable from one another. Any tension he’d had drained away several minutes ago. Ichigo began to despair of ever actually finding this Madarame guy.

The hallway he wandered down opened into a large bank of cubicles and desks. Ichigo started to look around for someone he could ask directions from when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar flash of red.

Renji was leaning over a desk, shouting into the impassive face of Captain Kuchiki. They were behind closed doors, but there was a full-length window through which Ichigo could see the scene clearly. All the cops and detectives and investigators in the cubicle farm seemed to be watching, holding their collective breaths. Especially when Kuchiki stood up slowly. 

Renji seemed to have sense enough to back off a bit. He stood there for a moment and seemed to take some kind of dressing down. Then he pushed open the door and the entire suite heard Kuchiki say, “If you act on your own I’ll have you arrested.”

Ichigo tried to duck out of the way before Renji spotted him, but no luck.

A fist curled into his jacket lapel and Ichigo was hauled around the corner of a cubicle wall. “Ichigo? What the hell are you doing here?” Renji’s voice was a hoarse whisper. 

“I’m rescuing Rukia,” Ichigo said, glancing down at the package pushed up between them as though it were some kind of proof of his efforts. “Erm… slowly.”

Renji frowned at the box. “You’re bringing that shit in here? Are you insane?”

Probably. 

Ichigo’s back was pressed up against a cloth-covered wall, the edge of someone’s metal desk pressed against his thigh, some kind of modular furniture overhead cabinet hung beside his head. Renji loomed over him. Ichigo had never really noticed how big Renji was before, but with Renji’s body so close—one fist still wrapped around Ichigo’s lapel, another flat against the wall by Ichigo’s head, legs between his---it was impossible not to calculate the two inches and nearly thirty pounds difference.

With Renji’s face so close, Ichigo’s lips tingled with wanting and, fuck, if his heart didn't start banging away.

God damn it, anyway.

Ichigo pushed Renji off him. In surprise, Renji stumbled back. Ichigo shifted the package and turned away from Renji, “I have a guy to see.”

Ichigo walked out of the cubicle and ran smack into Byakuya Kuchiki.


	3. Plan B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having run into Byakuya (literally), Ichigo has to think on his feet to come up with a plan. And Ichigo's plans are always.... yeah.

Ichigo figured he was supposed to be impressed with the steely-eyed gaze of Byakuya Kuchiki, but screw this insanely gorgeous guy with his nose in the air. Ichigo shoved his box of contraband at the pretty police captain’s chest and snarled, “What the hell kind of oni-chan arrests his own baby sister, huh?”

Kuchiki, who had automatically grasped the package Ichigo thrust at him, looked down at the box and its happy ‘Urahara Shouten!’ label in that ridiculous Comic Sans font and then at Renji, as though expecting a translation. “What’s going on, Lieutenant?”

“Uh…” Renji glanced over at Ichigo. They shared an ‘oh fuck’ wide-eyed glance, until Ichigo rolled his eyes and then bowed a greeting.

“I’m the informant,” Ichigo said when he came back up. Hooking his thumb at Renji, who was still standing there with an open mouth, “The one doofus here was courting. I’m ready to talk. I even brought you a sample of the goods.”

“I see,” Kuchiki said, looking at the box with renewed interest.

The captain wasn’t in uniform. Instead, he was in some kind of tailored suit--a really fancy charcoal-gray, expensive-looking suit, like an Armani or even something custom made by Alexander Amosu. The sort of shit Dummo Dad used to prance around in when they were one of the Big Families.

Made Ichigo wonder a little about this Kuchiki guy, actually. Cops didn’t normally make the kind of salaries that could afford swanky suits like that. 

Finally, Kuchiki’s eyes flicked up to dismissively glance at Renji. Then he turned his back to both of them. Over his shoulder, he said,“You two had best step into my office.”

Ichigo gave Renji a sympathetic grimace. Get a load of the attitude on this guy? What did he think he was, the prince of cops or something?

Renji shrugged as if in a kind of apology.

Together they followed Kuchiki into his office. 

With a little shiver of trepidation, Ichigo stepped over the threshold into the pristine workspace. Rarely had he been in a room this empty and sterile outside of a surgical theater. If it wasn’t for the slight floral scent coming from a perfectly manicured cherry tree bonsai on the captain’s desk, Ichigo would have half-expected the room to stink of antiseptic. The only other personal effect was a picture of… Rukia, maybe? But if so, it was taken when she was sick, her eyes had dark smudges under them. The picture sat, like a shrine, on top of a file cabinet. Not seeing any other chairs, Ichigo stood opposite where Kuchiki sat. Renji stood at a kind of relaxed attention beside him.

Setting the Shōten’s box deliberately on the empty desk between them, Kuchiki said simply, “Talk.”

Ichigo stared incredulous at Kuchiki. The man wasn’t even looking back at him. Instead, Kuchiki had his eyes downcast, staring into his lap or at the box. So, Ichigo said, “Fuck off. Why should I?”

Beside him, Renji sucked in a hissing breath.

Kuchiki’s gray eyes flashed up, pinning Ichigo in a hard stare. Ichigo was sure it was just his imagination, but he would have sworn the air in the room constricted, pressing down on him like a hammer. Byakuya’s eyes slid away, but his tone was hard and targeted, smacking Ichigo in the gut like a precision strike: “Would you rather spend the night in jail, Shiba?”

“Kurosaki,” Ichigo corrected him. But before Kuchiki could open his mouth to say anything more or add some other threat, Ichigo cut him off with: “We’re going by my mom’s surname these days, I’ll thank you to remember. But, yeah, I’d just as soon stay out of jail. My dad doesn’t know I’m here. I kind of want to keep it that way.”

That much was true, after all. Isshin would fucking go through the roof if he knew Ichigo was talking to cops. 

Yet, here he was using Dummo Dad’s own tricks to do it. Dad always said the key to being a good bullshitter was to go with the truth as much as possible. It was kind of amazing to Ichigo how easy all this was coming to him. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. His heart was thumping, but mostly that was because he was fighting the urge to snake out his fingers and grasp Renji’s--which would be awkward, if super comforting.

Ichigo resisted by reminding himself he was still ticked off at the big baboon. 

Shittiest fake boyfriend ever.

Mostly.

Except for those sloppy kisses and that last minute text.

And now Renji stepped forward, “We could do it like I suggested, sir. You and I both know there’s something fishy going on at Central. It ain’t right to transfer Rukia direct to prison without no trial.”

“Wait, what?” Renji couldn’t possibly have said what he just said. Ichigo knew the Japanese police were hardcore, but that had to be illegal, didn’t it?

“Yeah,” Renji said, turning to Ichigo. “They’re changing her sentence every other day, it seems. Now I get the order she’s supposed to be transferred to a maximum security correctional facility.”

Kuchiki was shaking his head. This was clearly the argument they’d just been having. “Your theory is still pure paranoia, Lieutenant. You can’t seriously believe that someone has corrupted the Central Authority.”

Renji wasn’t even talking to his boss any more. He’d turned around to Ichigo, putting a hand on his shoulder, drawing him in. “How else would you explain it? They’re the ones who sent us the order to take her in, Ichigo, and I just can’t shake the feeling--they knew, somebody knew what we were after at the Shōten… only, it’s got to be bigger than we even knew, because whoever they are they're bending over backwards to keep Rukia locked up tight and away from those blogger friends of hers.”

“Who are unconfirmed,” Kuchiki said tersely.

Ichigo could hear Renji growling under his breath. It was weirdly sexy, but Ichigo shook off that thought to ask, “So, what’s your plan?”

“It’s not a plan,” Kuchiki sniffed.

Renji ignored him. “You,” Renji jabbed a finger into Ichigo’s chest. “You cause a fuss and see who we can smoke out.”

Okay, the bones were solid, but there were zero details. “Where? Who am I fussing?”

“Yes, precisely,” Kuchiki said.

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” Renji all but bellowed. “Thing is, I don’t trust no one right now. Could be cops, could be gangsters, could be everybody’s in bed with everybody else. I honestly think we should just light as many fires as we can and see who’s the first out of the building, as it were.”

“Okay, I’m game,” Ichigo said at the same time that Kuchiki said, “No, I won’t allow it.”

Kuchiki stood up now, slowly and with all the threat implied. “It’s unnecessarily reckless. We need to operate within the confines of the law.”

“You do,” Ichigo said with a mischievous smile. “I don’t.”

#

Ichigo got them out the door and over to a nearby cafe on the excuse of a ‘brainstorming session.’ At first it seemed like Kuchiki would invited himself along, but, for once, Renji proved himself quick on his feet by saying that it would probably take several hours before they’d come up with anything even vaguely practical and he promised to make no moves without checking in.

For some reason, Kuchiki bought it.

“Does your boss even know you at all?” Ichigo asked. The cafe they’d escaped to was just across the street from the police station. Ichigo would have been worried that it would be filled with off-duty cops, but the main clientele seemed to be squealing schoolgirls under the age of fourteen.

It was a cat cafe.

A rather large, short-haired, male black cat had claimed Ichigo’s lap almost immediately. He purred loudly as Ichigo absently stroked his ears.

Renji sipped a lychee soda from a plastic cup covered in pink and white cartoon kittens. He looked kind of ridiculously huge sitting cross-legged on the floor. “The guy barely gives me the time of day,” Renji agreed. “I’m this close--” He held up his hand with his thumb and pointer finger nearly touching--”to being promoted, but he has no idea.”

Ichigo broke off the other ear of the cat-face-shaped sugar cookie he was half-heartedly eating and asked, “Is this whole thing with Rukia going to screw up your chance at promotion? I mean, if you’re right, and the police are dirty up the chain of command, they’re not going to like you prying into their business.”

Renji shrugged like he didn’t care, but Ichigo wasn’t so sure. “Yeah, well, that’s the thing,” Renji said. “That’s what’s kept most of the officers from saying anything about Rukia’s case. They’re all too scared of losing their jobs to point out how obviously bat-shit crazy Central is being. Central controls all of the divisions, not just mine, so finding anyone who will do anything is… well, it’s pretty fucking futile, is what it is.” Renji’s eyes followed a cat that sniffed his knee and then backed away with a hiss. Apparently, cats and Renji didn’t mix. “Plus, you know cops. We’re so entrenched. We don’t know how to change. We sure as shit don’t fight the system, you know? We are the system.”

Thinking about this, Ichigo continued to stroke the cat in his lap. “What do I know about taking on the system?” he wondered aloud. “I mean, I know how to live outside of it, but take it down?” He started to say, ‘I don’t know about this, man…’ but he happened to look up into Renji’s eyes at that moment. There was such a fierce fire burning there, like some kind of wild fire. So, instead, he mustered up a thin smile and said, “I guess we’ll just have to make shit up, huh?”

The smile Renji gave him at that was little toothy, wolfish, but it did things to Ichigo’s heart he would have thought only existed in shojo manga. 

So it was decided. The only problem? Neither of them knew shit about planning… anything. Renji’s most elaborate plan involved breaking Rukia out of jail during transport. Ichigo put up his hands in a giant ‘x.’ “Rescuing is a good idea, I like the sound of that. But, going in guns blazing?” Ichigo stopped and corrected himself. “Okay, yeah, that totally appeals to me, too, but I feel like maybe we should ask Hat-and-Clogs or maybe try to contact these blogger friends of Rukia’s?”

Renji scowled. It was a cute look, very grumpy. “Urahara is going to want to skin me alive. So, I’ll go with Plan B there. Let’s see if we can find this Ukitake guy.”

#

The one thing Ichigo remembered Rukia saying about Ukitake was that he had some kind of flamboyant partner, so he and Renji decided to meet up that night and hit as many gay clubs as they could.

Renji looked a little miserable at the prospect, so Ichigo patted him on the arm, “If you’re worried about being hit on, you can always fake being my boyfriend again.”

“Yeah? You’d do that for me?”

Ichigo tried not to blush and give away his true feelings. He had to look away when he shrugged, “I’ll muddle through. It’s only for a couple of nights.”

#

The black cat seemed to want to follow Ichigo back to the Shōten. It sipped out the door with him and he’d gone two blocks before realizing it was trailing him. “Oi! Scram! You need to go back to your cat café!” he told it. 

But catching the damn thing proved impossible. It was slippery! And fast! He almost had his hands on it once, but the tricky feline wriggled away last minute. Having made a lunge for it, Ichigo ended up facedown in the alley. He lay there for a few heartbeats feeling the alley grit grinding into his jeans, silently cursing that fucking cat, only to watch it hop into the waiting arms of… Tessai.

Tessai danced around with joy. “You found your way home at last! The boss will be so pleased! His best friend has returned!”

“That cat belongs here?” Ichigo asked, pulling himself up, dusting off bruised elbows and knees. “Seriously?” What were the chances? It seemed like a stretch. More than a little coincidental. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s a black cat. There must be a thousand black cats in this city.”

Tessai said nothing, as usual, just hummed to himself as he fetched a bowl for the cat who seemed quite content to ride on his broad shoulders. 

Ichigo followed Tessai into the backrooms, shaking his head in disbelief. The room was one Ichigo hadn’t been in before, but it had stacks of wooden crates piled high. Several were marked ‘beans,’ but others either said nothing or a very cryptic ‘merchandise.’ Leaning against a sturdy looking pile, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah, so the crazy plan didn’t get me killed, and I avoided arrest. You’re welcome.”

Urahara made a sudden appearance around the corner of one of the stacks of boxes. He opened his mouth and started to say something to Ichigo, but seeing the cat he seemed to lose his train of thought. Delightedly, he swept the cat from Tessai’s shoulder and began dancing around the cramped storeroom, holding the animal aloft like a baby. “Oh! Yoruichi! What brings you back?”

Baffled, Ichigo watched Urahara waltz the cat around the pile of crates. Tessai had found a bowl and cream and stood holding it expectantly while beaming adoringly at the crazy man and his cat. Giving up, Ichigo headed back to the front of the coffee shop. “Okay, well, I’ll be at work, I guess.”

Leaving Urahara still talking to the long-lost cat like it could understand a word he was saying, Ichigo made his way to the front. The coffee shop was empty. Ishida was there polishing the chrome of the espresso machine. When Ichigo emerged from the back, Ishida glanced up. He flashed a disapproving scowl, which Ichigo was beginning to interpret as Ishida’s standard greeting for pretty much everyone, but Ichigo in particular. “Hi, to you too.”

“What are you doing here? The schedule says you were on deliveries this morning and nothing else.”

Ichigo slumped into one of the metal stools at the bar. The adrenaline of the day evaporated in a rush and suddenly the leather shoulder holster hidden under his jacket felt hot and restrictive. The gun pressed hard and cold into his side. “What the fuck am I doing, Ishida?”

Ishida seemed to understand. Silently, he made Ichigo a hot chocolate. The espresso machine whined and hissed noisily as he steamed the milk. Setting the drink in front of Ichigo, Ishida said, “On me.”

Ichigo wrapped his hands around the warm mug gratefully. 

Ishida leaned his elbows on the wooden table like a bartender. “Some guy claiming to be your old man came in looking for you.”

Isshin? Fuck. Ichigo should have figured that aunt Kukaku would spill the beans about his little visit to Osaka the other night. Dad was either really pissed off or freakishly excited that Ichigo was getting into the family business. “Let me guess, he was so happy he bought everyone in the place a drink.”

Ishida’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise. “How did you know?”

Ichigo shook his head. “My dad is a raging moron.”

Ishida nodded like he agreed with that assessment. “But richer than I would have guessed,” Ishida adjusted his glasses before heading back to clean off the steamer nozzle. “What is it your family does again?”

Crap. Ichigo could never remember what he was supposed to say. There’d been so much back-and-forth with the witness protection agency, mostly because Dad was insistent that he have the kind of job that reflected his status--even though the agency kept trying to explain that was the EXACT OPPOSITE of the point. There had been some kind of compromise. What had it been? “Dad’s a mortician,” Ichigo said, thinking that might be right. “We’re in the funeral business.”

Ishida pulled a face that made Ichigo confident he’d gotten it right. Mortician: a respectable job that no one ever wanted to hear details about. Ever.

“Your father seems a little… bombastic for a funeral home director,” Ishida said with a little frown. 

Ichigo snorted. “Yeah. He also pretends our house is a ‘clinic.’” So much so, in fact, that half the time, Ichigo thought of it that way, too.

Ishida seemed to think about that for a while as he went back to arranging the bottles of flavored shots. “Shouldn’t you call him or something?”

If Isshin was in a good mood, it just meant that he’d heard from Kukaku and wanted to slap Ichigo on the back, call him manly, and make some awful mafia joke about Ichigo ‘popping his cherry’--not that the twins were in trouble or anything serious. “Nah.” 

But, Ichigo did pull out his phone. 

He thought he’d better make a list of gay bars that might appeal to... did Ichigo know anything at all about this Ukitake guy? 

Right, first things first: check out Ukitake’s blog.

#

Ukitake Jūshirō was the most cheerful conspiracy theorist in the history of ever. Ichigo never laughed so hard reading so much crazy. 

Though, the bits where Ukitake talked about the police’s central authority jived with Renji’s take on them. If Ukitake was reporting accurately, Central’s judgement had been off the wall for decades--executions without trial? Japan’s justice system had always been kind of funky, but there were things reported here that were well beyond what should be business as usual.

Or, at least, Ichigo hoped so.

Luckily, Ukitake also loved to post selfies, not only of himself but his big, fabulous bear of a boyfriend, too. To be fair, they were both pretty hot for old guys, even though bearish boyfriend seemed to favor hot pink women’s wear on occasion.

It sounded like they were both former cops. Ukitake definitely had been. The boyfriend, Something Shunsui, was a lot more cagey about his past… and present, for that matter. Yeah, he was clearly some kind of a giant goofball, but there was something about him that made Ichigo think that maybe this sparkly pink Shunsui guy be the one to be on guard around.

Big Pink drank like a fish, though. Lots of selfies in the bars. Ichigo was able to figure out at least one--since they posed in front of the marquee--and he thought he could work out a second possibility for tonight.

Ichigo told himself he was reading all the personal parts of the blog in order to gather information, but secretly it thrilled him to read about how the two men had met in college and had been in a steady relationship for decades and decades and... decades. When Ichigo imagined his future, there was no one in it, but himself. Hell, half the time he couldn’t imagine living past thirty.

So, reading about these two filled Ichigo with a kind of hope. Maybe there was someone out there for him, after all. 

As if on some kind of horrible cue, Renji texted.

> HELP. WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?

All-caps, huh? Renji must be really panicked, he normally had better netiquette than this. With a roll of his eyes, Ichigo started typing:

> Just something cute. You must have something cute.

> I DON’T KNOW FROM CUTE. HELP.

> How do you want me to help?  
>  Do you want me to come over there and dress you? :-P

> YES! PLZ COME OVER NOW IS NOW GOOD???!!.

Ichigo stared at his screen for several minutes, not sure how to respond. When he glanced up, Ishida gave him a concerned look, apparently having noticed Ichigo’s stricken expression. 

“What’s going on?” Ishida asked.

Ichigo pointed to his phone. “Renji wants me to go over. To his place. And put clothes on him.”

Ishida made a face and a disapproving shake of his head, “Oh for gods’ sake, I thought it was something serious. Why are you looking like that? It can’t be that much harder than taking clothes off him.”

Right. Because people thought they’d already done that. 

When Ichigo glanced back at his screen Renji had already given Ichigo his address and directions by train from the coffee shop. What else could Ichigo do? He typed:

> OK. See you in 5.

#

Of course Renji’s apartment was in the Kabukicho District, one of the worst neighborhoods in all of Tokyo. Ichigo pulled his hood up over his head as he stepped off the JR train platform. If he was going to be recognized anywhere, it would be here. The yakuza owned most of the business and so, naturally, cops were everywhere.

Some of them in full riot gear.

Ichigo was glad he decided to leave the gun behind. He’d stowed it in one of the little locked cubbies that Urahara had for employee use. It was kind of uncool to leave contraband like that on the shop premises--especially since it seemed that Urahara was the target of regular raids--but it would be far more stupid to be carrying in this neighborhood.

These were the kind of people Ichigo had grown-up around, though. He should probably feel threatened by the tattooed, heavily-muscled bouncers loitering in the doorways of various host and hostess clubs, but he just nodded pleasantly at them. Like you do, when your dad used to own half these places. 

As he passed a karaoke club, Ichigo smiled. He was sure Dad had had his fingers in all sorts of unsavory pies, but Ichigo had fond memories of playing with the karaoke machines ‘after hours.’ Yuzu had a great voice, but the way some of the creeps that hung around those places looked at his baby sister had made Ichigo learn to throw a solid punch--the kind you didn’t get back up from easily, the kind that would scare the shit out of adults twice his size, the kind that sent people to the hospital.

It’d been years before Ichigo figured out you weren’t supposed to hit people that hard in ‘Real Life.’ 

Apparently, other people knew how to pull their punches. Pulling punches was a skill Ichigo never really quite mastered. Most kids went to judo to learn to hit harder; Ichigo’s instructor spent hours, years trying to teach him how to soften his blows. It never entirely worked, because he could only practice not killing those few, random classmates who tried to insult him with ‘hafu’ and ‘akage.’ The instant he was ‘home,’ he’d have to ramp back up to nuclear to keep the mafia shitheads from upskirting his sisters.

Even so, Dad rigorously kept Ichigo and the twins out of actual yakuza dealings. Ichigo only knew enough about the family business not to get killed.

As always, he was hafu. Half-in, half-out of everything, it seemed.

Ichigo finally reached Renji’s apartment. Just as the text said, it was above an alleyway izakaya. Ichigo ducked under the curtained entryway. A tough-looking guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips,looked up expectantly from the ramen broth he was stirring, started to mutter ‘Irassha-,’ until Ichigo nodded his head in the direction of the set of creaky, rickety stairs. The cook looked a little disappointed not to be getting a customer, but waved him up. Renji’s apartment was apparently six flights up.

The staircase was so narrow and dark, it made Ichigo claustrophobic about fire hazards. 

Through the thin walls, Ichigo could hear the usual sounds of poverty--babies crying, people cussing each other out, and the loud blare of a television. Everything stunk of stale beer and cigarettes. 

The kanji six on Renji’s door had been drawn onto the cheap plywood with a magic marker. Someone had tried to fancy it up by putting an elongated diamond shape around it. Ichigo knocked, shouting, “Oi, Renji, it’s me.”

“It’s open,” came the muffled response from inside.

Ichigo toed out of his sneakers and started to place them on the mat beside the door until he realized there was no other footwear there. Jesus, did the people in this place steal shoes? With a sigh, he carried them in over the threshold. Cautiously, he opened the door and stuck his head inside.

The space was small, not much bigger than Ichigo’s bedroom, but it was shockingly tidy. Ichigo didn’t know why, but he’d expected Renji to be a slob--the sort to have clothes and beer cans everywhere. But, he wasn’t. Though maybe that was because there was hardly any room for garbage in the tiny place. 

In fact, there wasn’t a lot of furniture, not even a bed. It must be folded away somehow, or maybe Renji slept on a futon. It really seemed more like a someone’s closet than a room, especially given that, pushed up against one of the walls, stood one of those big racks you see in department stores full of clothes on hangers. Renji sat on the floor staring at it, dejectedly. “I don’t have anything decent to wear.”

Ichigo tried to say something encouraging, but he actually found that he had no words. His shoes clattered to the floor, because Renji was shirtless. 

And pantsless. 

In fact, he was sitting there in nothing but tighty-whities. And… the tattoos, there were so many of them--all over--and they were so… amazing. Not to mention the body that sported them.

Holy shit. Ichigo had figured Renji was in good shape, but dude was ripped.

Right away, Ichigo’s body started doing awkward things. His skin flushed. Arousal shot through him, heading straight to his dick, which jumped to attention like he was still some fifteen year old high schooler. 

Ichigo spun around and faced the door, hoping Renji wouldn’t notice his reaction. At least until he could get himself slightly more under control. “Put some pants on at least, would you?”

“Yeah, but which ones!” Renji sighed.

“Just put on a pair of jeans. We’re going to a bar, not a fashion show!” Luckily, the sheer amount of exasperation Ichigo felt tempered his raging erection. “Bright Buddha, Renji, I thought you were straight. Are you trying to get picked up?”

The silence that followed had a quality to it that made Ichigo glance over his shoulder. Renji had gotten to his feet and he was staring at his rack of clothes with a stunned expression. He looked like he’d been slapped across the face. Turning to look at Ichigo, Renji’s eyes were wide. “Is it gay that I want to look good?”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, “No.” Gay was getting a hard-on looking at a half-naked guy. Turning all the way around, Ichigo went over to the rack and started pawing through Renji’s choices. Gah! So much pasley. “In fact, you’re work too hard at this. Forget the stereotypes, okay? Just be yourself. You look great in anything.” 

Or nothing. 

Ichigo pushed away the images associated with that thought, much like he was trying to mentally shove down his dick. It wasn’t entirely working. The apartment was way too warm, and Ichigo could feel Renji’s presence behind him, standing there, nearly naked, just a little too close.

When his hands shook a little, Ichigo focused in on the clothes. What would look good with that wild, ruby red hair? Brown, maybe? Did Renji have anything that subtle?

“You think I’m cute.” Renji’s voice in Ichigo’s ear made him jump. 

And squeak a little.

“Gah! I do not!” Ichigo lied, to cover his embarrassment at having been so startled. Impulsively, he shoved the shirt that was in his hands at Renji. “Wear this, you big doof.”

Renji glanced down at what Ichigo had picked for him. “Black? Isn’t that a little somber for a gay bar?”

“Fuck you, man. It’s not like we all prance around in sequins and glitter!” Ichigo grabbed a pair of black jeans and a light brown suit coat. “Wear this. I’d date a guy in this.” As soon as he said the last part, Ichigo felt a blush bloom across his nose. “Not that I want to date you. Just that I would, if you were into me. I mean, not that I care, because I don’t--”

Renji effectively saved Ichigo from any more stupid declarations with a kiss. He just swooped in, grabbed Ichigo by the shoulders, and planted a big, wet one on him. The suit coat and jeans were crushed between them, though Ichigo doubted the bunched up fabric did anything to hide the fact that, just as suddenly, his hard dick was pressed up against Renji’s naked inner thigh.

He also couldn’t pretend that he didn’t sigh into Renji’s mouth a little, like his whole body had been waiting forever for this moment. Renji’s hand slid around Ichigo’s neck, pressing him deeper, and Ichigo really wanted to let go, relax into it. He wanted to drop the clothes he was still clutching and run his hands over those taut muscles, run his fingernails up ribcages, pull Renji closer, harder...

Except this wasn’t mutual, was it? It was all just some kind of game to Renji, playing pretend, prancing around for a weekend, as it were, for some kind of sting operation. Ichigo shoved Renji off him. “What the fuck you doing?” 

“Uh, kissing you, I thought,” Renji said, looking a little hurt. Cripes, when had Renji's hair slipped from that constant, stupid topknot to fall over those broad shoulders? God damn it, as if Ichigo wasn’t in enough pain: that sad, hopeful expression and that amazing goddamn hair was fucking killing him. 

“Don’t do shit like that unless you mean it,” Ichigo said, getting ready to flee, because all this naked and gorgeous hair was going to make him lose it, right here, in his fucking pants. 

Renji tugged on his ear like a schoolboy. “What if I was serious?”

That stopped Ichigo mid turn. He was still clutching Renji’s clothes, and he was just as glad since they not only hid his erection but also the uptick in his heart. Doki-doki, just like in those goddamn romance manga. “So, are you?”

“I think I am,” Renji said.

“You said you were straight.”

Renji lifted a naked shoulder in a shrug. “I thought I was.”

“So, you’re not? So, you’re bi or something all of a sudden?” Ichigo’s tone was a little harsh, but he was trying to cover the growing sense of hope filling him.

“Maybe?” Renji frowned, the tattoos on his forehead giving him a fierce expression. “Look, you’re probably right. I probably shouldn’t be kissing you until I know for sure, but, fuck me, I’ve been thinking about kissing you a lot. A. lot. Like, all the time,” Renji started to pace. He gesticulated wildly, like some kind of naked, tattooed lawyer making his case. “I don’t know jack shit about being gay or whatever, but you know, when I think back on it, you’re not the first guy I thought was kinda hot--”

Ichigo deflated a little, “Yeah, you mean like that pretty boss of yours you’re crushed out on?”

Renji stopped dead, looking a little shocked, but then laughed, “Yeah, see. I guess I’ve been obvious to everyone but myself. Thing is, ever since we stopped fake seeing each other I’ve been wondering what it would be like to date you, you know, for real.”

There were probably a dozen more articulate things he could have said, but all that came out of Ichigo’s mouth was: “Same.”

“Yeah?”

There were those puppy-dog eyes again. Ichigo had to look at his stocking feet. “Yeah.”

Renji enveloped Ichigo in a bone-crushing bear hug. “Cool! So, you wanna? Date, I mean?” He let Ichigo go almost as violently and hastily added, “I mean. I’m up for the other stuff too, the, you know,” then he made gesture with his hands of people kissing, “But, I’ve never… with a guy, so… I guess you’ll be my first.”

Here was where it was really fucking awkward to be a twenty-year old virgin. “Mine too.”

But, if Renji heard Ichigo’s confession, it didn’t seem to sink in. He bounded around the tiny apartment giddily getting dressed. He took rest of the clothes from Ichigo with an adorable little blush. “Wow,” he kept saying as though to himself. “Cool.”

Why was it always such massive doofuses that stole Ichigo’s heart? 

Yet, Ichigo found himself watching Renji with a touch of distrust, of… sadness. Maybe, it wasn’t so much not trusting Renji as about being sincere, but not having faith in the universe. Ichigo believed Renji when he said he was into it, he really did, but what was going to happen when everything with the shoten and the cops came to a close? Renji had baulked when the shit hit the fan over Rukia. He’d chosen to stick with the cops, even when it meant arresting a childhood friend. 

What would Renji do when he found out about Ichigo’s family’s past? Would Renji pick being a cop over being in love?

Well, that all presumed they all survived long enough for him to find out. Ichigo wasn’t entirely sure that was a given.

Anyway, Dad would hate him. So, might as well cross all the various bridges when they came, as it were.

Ichigo pulled one of Renji’s outrageous paisley shirts off its hanger. Shrugging out of his hoodie and tee-shirt, Ichigo tried it on for size. Mmmm, too big in the arms and shoulders, but not a horrible fit. Rolling up the cuffs would make it work. He lifted a sleeve to his nose; it smelled nice, too, like Renji’s aftershave.

“Wow,” Renji said again, only this time Ichigo knew it was directed at him. “I didn’t think I was going to see you in my shirt until morning.”

“Oi, you think I’m that easy?” 

Ichigo tossed his balled-up hoodie in protest at Renji, but he caught it easily. He buried his nose in Ichigo’s hoodie, took a strong sniff, and then gave Ichigo a wolfish smile. “I sincerely hope so. Yeah, ‘cuz you smell tasty. Like dinner.”

_Like dinner?_

“You need to work on your pick-up lines,” Ichigo said with a smile to take the sting out of his admonishment. “Honestly, Abarai, ‘dinner’? What are you, a cannibal? At least go with the traditional ‘something good to eat.’”

Renji considered this seriously, as he came over to adjust Ichigo’s collar. He stood close enough that Ichigo had to tilt his head up a little to look him in the eye. “I thought about saying that, but I didn’t know which of us was going to be doing the eating.”

Ichigo nearly choked. 

“Yeah, yeah, too soon, I know. I got to date you properly first,” Renji said, but he did do that whole finger under the chin thing to nudge Ichigo up into a kiss. It was a nice kiss, soft and tender, but a little greedy, too, like Renji legitimately could NOT wait to get naked.

It kinda took Ichigo’s breath away.

Also, the thought of him eating Renji or Renji eating him or both at once… yeah, it kind of made Ichigo’s brain stutter a little. He was sure he was blushing bright red. 

“We should… you know… the bar.”

“You sure you don’t just want to stay here and have sex?” Renji asked, his face still close enough to kiss.

Of course he wanted that! 

Before Ichigo could formulate anything coherent, Renji stepped away with a sigh. “Right. Duty first.”

This was going to be a loooooooong night.

#

The first bar was just a short train ride to the infamous Roppongi District. So much neon flashed in the darkening sky that it reflected off asphalt, making the streets seem shiny and wet. Taxis clogged the busy streets. Hawkers shouted at them as they passed, trying to entice them inside various establishments. Bass throbbed out of smoky interiors, vibrating windows with each beat. Ichigo had never spent that much time in this part of town, mostly having passed through it on the way to other places. Renji, meanwhile, seemed to know it pretty well. 

“My first beat assignment,” Renji said. “Dealing with drunk tourists 24/7.”

“Fun,” Ichigo noted, moving out of the way of yet-another gaggle of giggling drunk foreigners. 

“Eh,” Renji shrugged. “I learned to swear in about six different languages.”

Ichigo could see how that might be useful. Glancing at the screenshot on this phone, Ichigo pointed across the street. “I think this is it.” 

The name over the door was ‘BarBlue,’ in English. It was a narrow little space with a lot of chrome and lacquered wood. Despite the bustle of the crowds on the streets, BarBlue gave off a quiet, intimate vibe. Instead of the pounding bass, a live acoustic jazz band played on a tiny stage. The maître d’ or host handed them a menu that seemed to consist entirely of cocktails. He directed them to a table in the middle of a crowded room. Ichigo scanned the bar for signs of Ukitake or Kyōraku. The lighting was dim, so he couldn’t be sure, but he figured this first stop was going to be a bust. 

He was about to lean in to tell Renji that maybe they shouldn’t even bother ordering anything, when a deep, rumbling belly laugh rose above the ambient noise, drawing his attention. Sure enough, there they were at the bar. 

Ichigo recognized Ukitake instantly, due to his distinctive snow-white hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed all the way to the small of his back. The pair seemed to have dressed to match. Ukitake in white suit coat and pants, with a green plaid vest buttoned up neatly. Kyōraku was dark where Ukitake was light, all in black, except for a white button-up under his black coat and a matching green-plaid cravat around his neck. 

They were a striking pair. 

And, obviously together--not just because of their complimentary outfits, but the way they looked at each other, like there were no other people in the entire bar. Whatever it was that Kyōraku had said, Ukitake found deeply charming and seems to have laughed himself into a coughing fit.

“Slippery Nipple or Sex on the Beach?” Renji asked.

Ichigo grew up in bars scuzzier than this one and those kinds of cocktail names are hilarious when you’re thirteen. So, he didn’t even have to look at the menu to say, “Not a Quick Fuck or a Blow Job?”

“Those aren’t real,” Renji said, as he quickly scanned the menu. “Holy shit, those are real.”

“You might like a Blow Job,” Ichigo said. “They’re creamy--like, there’s real whipped cream in it. And you’re supposed to let someone else hold it up to your mouth, with your hands behind your back.”

Renji’s eyes went wide. Ichigo was secretly pleased he was actually able to shock him a little. 

“Those are our guys, by the way,” Ichigo said, jerking his head in the direction of the bar. “The blogger and his boyfriend.”

Renji glanced casually in the direction Ichigo indicated and then went back to his menu. “What’s the game plan? We going to stake ‘em out for a while, or…?”

Ichigo pushed back his chair and stood up. “I was thinking about the direct approach, actually.”

Before Renji could stop him Ichigo made a beeline toward Ukitake and Kyōraku. As Ichigo expected, it was Kyōraku who noticed his approach first and stood up slowly as though ready to defend his partner. That’s when Ichigo wonder if he’d made a mistake, because it was like the guy kept standing up and up and up. Just how tall was this guy? Also the selfies did NOT accurately portray just how wide his shoulders were. He was built like some kind of American footballer. 

“Ho, ho, who have we here?” Kyōraku’s pleasant voice belied his ready stance. “A fanboy of yours, perhaps, ‘Shiro?”

Ukitake suddenly seemed to notice Ichigo’s approach and… smiled. It was unexpected and disarming, and Ichigo found himself sort of losing his resolve in his confusion. Still sitting on the tall stool, Ukitake patted every pocket of his suit. “Oh! I have a pen around here somewhere!” he flustered.

Kyōraku pulled one of those expensive fountain pens from his inner pocket and handed it over wordlessly.

“Ah, yes, thank you!” Ukitake unscrewed the top and looked at Ichigo expectantly, “What do you have for me? I hope it’s a printout of #473. By far my best work!”

“Actually, I’m a friend of Rukia’s,” Ichigo said, just as Renji came up to stand behind him. “That is, we both are.”

Renji nodded like he’d been part of the conversation so far, and added, “Central’s transferring her to maximum security this week.”

The two men exchanged a concerned glance. “Well,” Kyōraku said to them gesturing to the nearby seats, “If that doesn’t call for a Death in the Afternoon, I don’t know what does.”

#

Ichigo found himself watching Kyōraku while Ukitake and Renji talked. 

Ichigo knew what killers looked like; this guy was definitely one. There were always those fellows, the ones that operated in the shadows who had ridiculously innocuous monikers like ‘the cleaner’ or ‘the sweep.’ When you talked to them, you thought, ‘gee, what a nice guy; he’s like everybody’s favorite uncle,’ and then you’d see something dark and awful reflected deep in his eyes and you’d know. This ‘good neighbor’ would cut your throat in a heartbeat.

Kyōraku looked back with the same certain gaze. Like he knew Ichigo had him sussed and he gave exactly zero fucks about it. Or more terrifying, was amused by it.

Meanwhile, Renji and Ukitake had their heads stretched together like two gossips, yammering on about Central and some captain or other who was running for chief of police...? Something-or-other Sousuke. Renji was apparently super-relieved to find anyone, anywhere who didn’t automatically love this Sousuke person. Apparently most of Renji’s cop friends had crushes on the captain.

Ichigo had been right about Ukitake. He was a former cop. Ichigo was half-prepared to hear a story about how he’d been undercover and fallen in love with an assassin for the mob and quit, but apparently, the truth was much more mundane. Ukitake had had to go on disability or some such due to a health problem that affected his lungs. 

Kyōraku took a sip of his Death in the Afternoon, a sickly yellow bubbly thing. “Something’s changed for Aizen to be moving now. And why on Rukia? What does she have?”

“Something of Urahara’s,” Ichigo supplied. He took a cautious sip of his own concoction, something Renji dared him to order called a Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. “She was buying something off him a lot, right before her arrest.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Renji nodded, setting down his nearly empty Snakebite. After all that bluster, it turned out Renji couldn’t order anything off-color without stammering and blushing.

Ukitake held his Kamikaze in both hands, like it was a tea bowl. He watched everyone with fathomless sea green eyes over the rim. He spared his longest glance for his lover, before he sighed and said, “Well. I guess we’ll have to show our hand finally, Shunsui. It’s time to stop him.”

Was it odd that, for a moment, Ichigo wasn’t sure which ‘he’ Ukitake referred to? They’d just been talking about Urahara, but surely Ukitake must mean this Sousuke guy. Right?

Honestly, Ichigo had lost track of the conversation some time ago. These Four Horsemen he’d been drinking were potent as fuck, and he was pretty sure he was already more than a little sloshed. “What about Rukia? I really don’t give a shit about this cop guy you’re all plotting against. I joined this fight to bust Rukia out. Are we doing that, or what?”

“Mmmm, ‘or what,’ I should think,” Kyōraku drawled “You may need to start thinking of Rukia is collateral damage in a bigger game, my boyo. Besides, we’re two old men. Do you really think we’re the sort capable of pulling of the kind of heist it would take to liberate your friend in the middle of a high security prison transfer?”

Ichigo was jumping to his feet, ready to punch Kyōraku for dismissing Rukia’s life so flippantly, when Ukitake lightly touched Kyōraku’s arm and smiled, “But, my dear, we’re EXACTLY that sort.”

“Ah, yes, I suppose we are,” Kyōraku smiled at Ichigo, who was wobbling on his feet a little, suddenly not sure if he still wanted to punch anyone or not. “I guess there’s your answer. We’re in. Now we’d better order another round, possibly two. We have a caper to plan!”


	4. Hold My Flowers, Handsome...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, the plan to rescue Rukia involves... flower petals?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: mature content (explicit sexual activity.)

Ichigo was pretty drunk, but he swore he just heard Kyōraku insist that a cascade of flower blossoms be part of their plan to rescue Rukia. More ludicrously, Renji seemed to be scribbling it down on the BarBlue napkin along with the other notes. Ichigo raised his hand. Which was maybe a weird thing to do in a super gay cocktail bar, but Ichigo was seriously drunk.

White-haired blogger, Ukitake, noticed Ichigo first. He’d been leaning into his big beefy boyfriend, Kyōraku, almost looking over his shoulder, at the notes Renji was taking. “Um, yes? Kurosaki-san, is it? You have a question?”

“Several, actually,” Ichigo said. He was pleased that even after two Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, his words weren’t entirely unintelligible. Mostly, he was having trouble tracking. But, Ichigo was beginning to think that that maybe wasn’t due so much to drunkenness, as the fact that this plan might be legitimately insane. “We’re putting someone’s niece on a rooftop with a bucket of rose petals?”

“Nanao-chan,” Kyōraku said with a serious nod. “But, not my niece. Not exactly, anyway. She’s my brother’s wife’s child.”

How drunk was this guy? Wasn’t that what a niece was? “Whatever,” Ichigo waved that particular argument to the side. “That’s not the point. The point is: flower petals? Are you senile, old man? Unless ‘flower petals’ is some kind of mob slang I haven’t heard that stands for ACE SNIPER, what the actual fuck? Are you some kind of drama queen?”

“Nanao is a good shot,” Kyōraku agreed amiably, while completely ignoring the ‘drama queen’ insult. But from Ukitake’s quickly hidden smile, Ichigo figured he’d scored a hit. “But, in general, I have to recommend against shooting cops.”

Ukitake nodded, giving Ichigo a vaguely horrified, lightly condemning ‘how could you even think about such violence?’ look.

Renji smacked Ichigo on the side of the head. “I’m going to be on the ground, you idiot. You want some sniper to take me out?”

“What part of ‘ace’ sniper are you not getting? But I wasn’t actually suggesting…Oh, forget I said anything,” Ichigo just stopped talking because once again he’d lost track of what they were talking about. Might as well just roll with this insanity. “So, you got a good florist to set you up for these rose petals, Kyōraku? Because my dad is a funeral director. We know all the cheap florists.”

“Now who’s talking in yakuza code?” Kyōraku raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Ichigo. “Shiba-taicho is a ‘funeral director’ now, is he? I suppose that cover is apt, in a way. Isshin was always very good at putting people in the ground.” 

That clinched it. Ichigo was right about this Kyōraku guy. Clearly, he was some kind of ex- or current mafia hitman. 

But, Ichigo wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to being outed as a Shiba, though. Urahara clearly knew, now this guy…. Maybe Dummo Dad actually just naturally sucked at being incognito and the whole ‘witness protection’ racket was some kind of open secret. “Your point?”

He'd forgotten about Renji, who snorted alcohol out his nose and started coughing as hard as Ukitake during one of his fits. When he recovered, he pointed an accusing finger into Ichigo’s face. “You’re a... Shiba?”

Renji spat out the name like it was dirty. Ichigo supposed it was, in a way. The way Renji looked at him, like he was trying to see the filth on him, however, made Ichigo’s stomach tighten and his jaw clench. He wasn’t used to feeling ashamed of his family’s connections, though to be fair he wasn’t used to feeling much of anything about his family. When they were in the mob, that was just life. When they were out… well, that sucked, because Mom was dead, but…. Ichigo had been too busy fighting people over his stupid hair color to really consider that maybe that wasn’t the ugliest thing about who he was. 

“Oh dear, oh dear, Shiro. Seems I spoiled a secret. The boyfriend didn’t know,” Kyōraku purred in a very not sorry voice.

Ukitake pulled away from his lover a little and shook his head admonishingly. “You shouldn’t have done that, Shunsui. These two aren’t part of one of your games. Abarai-kun is an active duty police officer. You’ve put him in a real bind.”

Ichigo could feel the walls closing down, like a mask slipping over his face. “Renji’s got a hard on for his boss. There’s really no question what he’s going to do to.”

“Oi, that’s not fair. I was kissing you five minutes ago, wasn’t I?” Renji growled, his hand slapping the table so hard that glasses rattled. “On top of that, I’m sitting here plotting fucking treason! You don’t think I’ve already committed to career suicide? Given that we’re planning to bust Rukia outta jail, tattlin’ to the captain about your surname is small potatoes! Ain’t worth my time!” His anger faded as quickly as it had flared. His face softened as his eyes continued to search Ichigo’s face. “I was just… it was a surprise, all right? You don’t exactly look like your old man’s mug shots or that weird-ass bōsōzoku, Ganju. I mean, you’re gorgeous for fucksake. Look at you! Not all hairy…” he shot a guilty glance at Kyōraku, “No offense, man, hairy is not my type.”

Kyōraku chuckled. “That’s okay. Moron isn’t mine.”

“What?” Renji asked with a frown, as Kyōraku said with an innocent eyebrow raise, “What?”

Ukitake sighed and said, “What Shunsui means is, he’s spoken for.”

“Yeah, right, anyways, like I was saying...,” Renji finally broke from his glare at Kyōraku, and gestured broadly at Ichigo. “Point is, you’re Shiba. That’s fine. I mean notorious underworld figure for a dad, that’s cool. Sort of name that’s spoken in whispers like he’s some kind of demon, that’s not awkward…. Okay, actually, ‘meet the parents’ is going to be really, really, REALLY fucking awkward. But, let’s just cross that bridge when we get to it. We don’t even know if we’re going to survive this crazy plan.”

That was a good point. The brittleness broke, steel becoming glass in a heartbeat. Ichigo allowed himself a little smile. “Really fucking awkward. Dad doesn’t know I’m gay. I think he thinks I’m dating Rukia.”

“Super. Awkward,” Ukitake agreed solemnly, like it wasn’t kind of adorable of him to try to sound like a ‘hep, young kid.’

“Yes,” Kyōraku said in a tone that called them all back to task, “Speaking of Ms. Rukia....”

#

They talked so long, planned so far into the night, that the bar closed down around them. Ichigo had a distant memory of last call, but never did figure out how the rose petals were going to come into play because he kind of fell asleep on Renji’s arm sometime after his fifth Four Horseman. He woke up when he was being poured into someone’s bed that smelled distinctly of wild roses. 

“Oh, is it petal time already?” he asked sloppily.

A light chuckle and not the voice he expected said, “Not quite yet.”

Ichigo cracked open an eye to see the white-haired Ukitake tucking him in, under a thick quilt. “You’re not my boyfriend…. Are you?”

“No, Renji is passed out on our couch,” Ukitake smiled, patting Ichigo’s chest paternally. “Unexpectedly, you have more stamina than he, and thus made it a far as the master bedroom.” 

“Master…what? Wait, I’m in your bed?” Ichigo tried to pull himself out of the covers, but somehow they baffled his efforts to free himself. “I can sleep on the floor! Don’t put yourselves out on my account!”

Ukitake looked genuinely touched. “You look like such a delinquent, but you’re actually very polite young man! Don’t worry yourself, dear boy. Shunsui and I are in the guest room. We’re not put out.”

“But... I can… guest room… me,” Ichigo tried to say, but now it was his eyes that betrayed him. Suddenly, they were too heavy to keep open. He fell asleep instantly.

#

The smell of coffee brewing woke him. It was a foreign smell and his eyes instantly jolted open in confusion. Especially since so many of the other smells were painfully familiar: rice cooking, fish frying… the homey scent of miso. 

Blinking, Ichigo rubbed his eyes. He half-expected to have been transported back in time to his old room. The sounds of nearby laughter and clinking kitchen noises that his brain instantly registered as NOT Dad, Yuzu and Karin, still had a familial edge--one that made Ichigo take a moment to suck in a little breath to remind himself that all that ‘happy families’ stuff was long, long gone. It all came crashing down after Mom died. 

Dad tried hard, sometimes a little too hard, but everything was half. Half a family, half pretending to be someone new, and half a dozen schools to get kicked out of. Hafu. Half of something dead, belonging nowhere.

He rubbed his head and yawned. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, “Hangovers make me maudlin.”

Sunlight streamed in through gauze curtains. The bedroom Ichigo found himself in was an odd combination of Western and traditional. The bed was off the floor, with a thick mattress, dozens of feather pillows, and a colorful, hand-stitched quilt. Along with an antique tansu, there were a matching pair of funky little end tables with the kind of crocheted doilies that Ichigo had only ever seen on British TV shows. 

Books were everywhere. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered all of the rest of the available wall space. One entire wall seemed to be filled with books with only pink and red covers--a closer examination proved them to vaguely lurid romances, the bodice-ripping sort. The rest seemed to be dozens and dozens of science fiction paperbacks, the kind you’d find in the bargain bins at ‘Book Off.’ 

In among the books were little nicknacks and curio--tiny children’s toys like you might get out of a vending machine and, then, maybe legitimately priceless sake bowls? Ichigo put that one down carefully. 

The clutter was weirdly comfy, maybe because the room was surprisingly big for an apartment in Tokyo?

He glanced out the window and only saw a large, carefully manicured garden, complete with koi pond. The fuck? They were still in Tokyo, right?

Cripes, Ichigo hoped they were still in Tokyo.

He didn’t remember a very long walk or a train ride, but that didn’t mean much considering how drunk he’d been. 

Sliding the door open, Ichigo hung his tousled head out into the starkly empty main room--a formal receiving room? What was this place?--and asked, “Um, so… like, where am I?”

From a separate kitchen came Kyōraku’s booming, “Ho, ho! The dead awakens!” He stepped into view and Ichigo kind of wished he hadn’t. Kyōraku’s morning attire apparently consisted of a woman’s housedress--no, no, maybe it was just an overly flowery yukata? Whatever it was, it stopped short at the knee and hung almost wide open to his belly. There was a whole lot of chest and leg hair on display. With the coffee mug in his hand, Kyōraku gestured to the kitchen. “Come and eat, me boyo. ‘Shiro is making pancakes.”

Ichigo cautiously padded in his stocking feet across the wide open space. There were ceiling beams of cherry wood and tatami mats and a simple, empty Zen aesthetic that screamed ‘old money.’ 

If they were still in Tokyo, this was either a super-secret hidden rooftop mansion or the outer, exo-suburbs. Ichigo secretly hoped for the former, but figured on the latter. 

The kitchen could have been Ichigo’s own with all of the big, sunny windows, chrome, and piles of the kind of cooking gadgetry Yuzu collected the way other girls collected backpack charms. At the stove, Ukitake bustled around in black sweatpants and a white frilly apron. His long white hair was out of its ponytail and fell in a perfectly straight line to the middle of his naked back. Naked… of course he was half-naked, and really fucking trim too. But, wow, was he pale. Dude needed to get some sun. But, whatever, his cooking smelled amazing--maybe even rivalling Yuzu’s.

Kyōraku patted Ichigo on the back as he entered, gesturing for him to take a spot at the table next to where Renji sprawled in a Western chair with his head down on a table, maybe passed out, but definitely still in last night’s clothes, minus the suit coat. Renji’s hair had come down again, and spread across his folded arms like a ruby-red curtain. 

Softly, Ichigo parted a bit of the hair, trying to find Renji’s face. He didn’t have a lot of success, though he uncovered several forehead tattoos. “You alive in there, big guy?”

“No,” Renji grumped, turning his head away from Ichigo’s touch, like it stung him. “The fuck? Am I the only one with a hangover?”

Ichigo tugged at his ear. He had kind of a headache, but it wasn’t strong enough to even warrant bothering with aspirin. Ukitake, meanwhile, was humming to himself as he poured batter onto a sizzling skillet. Kyōraku didn’t seem any worse for the wear, either, sipping his coffee as he leaned a hip against a polished granite countertop. 

“I think so,” Ichigo told Renji. “Looks like it, anyway.”

“I hate all of you,” Renji murmured. “You’re mutants.”

“No need to name call,” Ukitake said from the stove. Despite his admonishment, his tone was light. “I just have a surprising tolerance for pain, and Shunsui’s liver has been dead for years. Now, the young Shiba-kun might just have good genetic--”

“Doubtful,” Ichigo interrupted, not so much because he thought it wasn’t true, but more that he could not get used to hearing his father’s surname bandied about so casually. It made him twitch nervously and want to look over his shoulder for the cops. Besides, he hadn’t been ‘Shiba-kun’ since he was little. He remembered that life, but, despite his little nostalgia trip when he’d woken up, not all the memories were stellar. Besides, Ichigo had gotten used to his mother’s maiden name. Kurosaki felt right-er, more himself. “I think Renji’s right. I’m just a mutant. I’m insanely good at weird things.”

Kyōraku watched Ichigo over the rim of his coffee mug, as if somehow reading more in this causal exchange than was there. 

Before Ichigo could give Kyōraku a belligerent ‘What?’, Ukitake plunked down a huge platter of pancakes. “Can you eat this kind of food?” he asked. “If not, I made something more traditional earlier. Abarai-kun needed simple rice and fish to settle his stomach.”

“Yuzu’s favorite show is ‘The Great British Bake-Off,’ I can handle pancakes,” Ichigo said, accepting the plate and fork Kyōraku handed him. He used his fork to nab three thick pancakes. When the syrup was passed to him, he drizzled on a generous helping. But before digging in he said, “Itadakimasu.”

Ukitake nudged Kyōraku in the elbow just as the big man was settling down. Coffee splashed out of the mug, spattering Kyōraku’s yukata, but Ukitake didn’t notice. He was smiling at Kyōraku. “He’s so polite! Can we keep him, Shunsui?”

Kyōraku broadly wiped off his chest and gave Ichigo a wan smile before turning to his partner. “Do you really need another dependant, Jūshirō? You already have half-a-dozen or more siblings. Besides, I think Mr. Ichigo here has already been emancipated. I doubt he wants a new set of parents at his age.”

Ukitake leaned in to Kyōraku’s face and made a show of batting his eyelashes. “But he so darling! Please? Can’t we keep him?”

“Don’t ask me,” Kyōraku chuckled, clearly helpless to his lover’s antics. “Ask the boy!”

Thing was, Ichigo could imagine himself saying ‘yes’ or at least a resounding ‘teach me, senpai!’ 

These two seemed to have what Ichigo desperately wanted: a fabulous life and a long-term relationship. Ichigo hardly knew anyone who was gay--well, gay like this, anyway. He’d seen plenty of queer sex workers in his life as Shiba-kun, but that wasn’t this. Ichigo knew gay hustlers. He did not know gay husbands. So, without prompting he said, “Actually, as it happens, I’m in the market for a couple of gay uncles.”

“Oh!” Ukitake beamed and clapped his hands in delight. “Yay! We can be that! Can’t we, Shunsui?”

“What are your requirements exactly,” Kyōraku asked, in a faux serious, negotiating tone. He set down his coffee mug and folded his hands on the table. “I’m technically bi. Will that violate our contract?”

“I hope not.” Renji kept his head down and buried in his arms, so his voice was muffled. “‘Cuz that’s me, too.”

“Bi is cool,” Ichigo agreed.

Kyōraku held out his hand like an American businessman. “Then we accept.” Beside him, Ukitake nodded vigorously, almost puppy-like.

Fuck. They were adorable.

So Ichigo shook. “Deal.”

#

Renji didn’t recover until well into the afternoon. So they let him doze on the kitchen table, while Ukitake and Kyōraku showed Ichigo around their house. As Ichigo suspected, it was swank enough to be freestanding, with its own yard that seemed to spill out onto private waterfront property. Apparently, the estate had some kind of name--”Ugi”or “Uge” something-- and Ukitake had inherited it, along with several acres of unspoiled wilderness, which included the entire mountain lake.

They’d taken more than one train to get this far out of town.

In fact, Ichigo was figuring he must have gotten in a car at some point. 

Ukitake seemed very serious about adopting Ichigo, showing him all the things he’d need if he were to come over on his own or for extended periods. He even pressed an extra key into Ichigo’s hand. It had a creepy-looking fob on it that almost looked like a skull, except the eyes were square buttons. “Garage door opener,” Ukitake explained, noticing Ichigo’s confusion. “If you don’t drive yourself, you’ll have to hire a taxi from the train station. But everyone in town knows Ugendō.”

“We’re way the fuck out in the country, aren’t we?”

Kyōraku laughed. “Way out, sonny boy. This town is so small it’s not even on a map. We like it that way.”

Yeah, no surprise there. Probably a great place to retreat to after plugging some poor sap who crossed the wrong boss. Dad never had a place like this that Ichigo knew of, but a couple of times the whole family bundled off to cherry blossom viewing at an ‘undisclosed location’ that involved a ‘game’ of blindfolds. Looking back on it, Ichigo shook his head. What kind of shitty father takes his kids to place like that, and manages to make it seem like fun and games?

Maybe Ichigo was still a little drunk after all, because he looked right at Kyōraku and asked, “You’re some kind of ‘closer,’ then? Or ‘cleaner’?”

Ukitake gasped. Kyōraku looked initially shocked, but then guffawed. “Well now, aren’t you clever? But, alas, a little off track. I’m not a hitman. Do you have a second guess?”

A second guess? Not really. Ichigo looked over this guy who was still standing around in his flowered lady’s clothes and came up fairly blank. So, he considered the clues one by one. Kyōraku was a big guy, probably trained in something--why else keep up all the muscles? He had a killer’s cold stare. Knew Dad. Lived in the middle of fucking nowhere. Bisexual. Drank coffee and had a partner who knew how to make pancakes without a recipe.... Those last thoughts made Ichigo take a stab at: “So, you’re Naichō or… are you foreign? Maybe CIA? Like, a spy or something?”

Kyōraku gave Ukitake a look. “We’re going to have to keep him now, Jūshirō. I’ve never had a boy suss me out this fast. That is, besides you.”

“I think he’s just a good people person, dove. He’s like you that way,” Ukitake said. “Plus he can hold his liquor like you… and bounces back in the morning. Maybe you should recruit him.”

Ichigo made a giant ‘x’ with his arms crossed. “No way! It’s bad enough I’m associating with cops! Naikaku Jōhō Chōsashitsu is right out!”

Kyōraku made a funny little ‘humph’ sound, like Ichigo was already wrong about that. “Oh?”

Ichigo started shaking his head. He could see where this was going and he didn’t like it. Plus, Dummo Dad as a spy? He blew at trying to be in the witness protection program, no way he'd be a secret agent. “No, nope, no, you are not about to tell me my dad was some kind of double-agent.”

“Who said anything about your dad?”

“You mean… Mom?”

Ichigo’s knees buckled. He caught himself before his ass hit the wooden planks, but only because the railing of the little garden bridge was right there for him to wrap both hands around. 

Ichigo knew next to nothing about his mom. His strongest memory was also the most awful. Suffocating under her weight as she bled out on top of him, her body slowly cooling in the rain. 

It’d been his fault, too. Pointing out that guy near the canal. The shooter would never have gotten a clean shot if they hadn’t broken from the crowd. It all happened so fast. All of it except lying there, that had felt like forever. Then, even after the police finally pulled his mom’s corpse off of him, he’d waited, covered in blood and soaked by the rain for hours until his dad finally showed up to silently drive him home, clearly blaming ten year old Ichigo for it. And why shouldn’t he? That was how it went down, after all, but Ichigo could still feel the weight of his father’s sudden distance. If Isshin looked at Ichigo at all any more, it was because he was about to hit him. 

They’d never talked about exactly what had happened, why Mom got shot, where Isshin was that day, why it had taken him so long to show up. 

Ichigo had always assumed it was mob business. Especially since it wasn’t long after that they went into witness protection. 

Ichigo almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his back. Ukitake stood beside him, rubbing slow circles on his back, acting like they were just standing on the little bridge, watching koi.

“That was too much,” Ukitake said quietly. “Shunsui doesn’t know when to stop. I sent him back inside to check on Abarai-kun.”

“I’m not sure I entirely believe it,” Ichigo said, though he frowned. His mom was a empty space, a cypher. She could have been a space alien for all he really remembered. Why couldn’t she have been some kind of deep cover government operative? But what did that make Dad? He must have known. Was he a grass then? Some kind of informant? Was that why he turned coat so fast on his mob buddies?

It made sense, but Ichigo didn’t know how to feel about it. Not at all.

Ukitake said nothing, just kept rubbing Ichigo’s back. He’d thrown on a tee-shirt before heading outside, but he was still barefoot and in sweats. Excited by their presence on the bridge, the koi flashed at the surface, their big mouths gasping.

“Half of what Shunsui says is… well, ‘blarney,’ really, bluster, ‘full of sound and and fury, signifying nothing’” Ukitake said like he agreed. “He does his business by making a lot of educated guesses.”

“Yeah, but he’d know one of his own colleagues, wouldn’t he?”

“Shunsui didn’t say your mom was a spy; you did,” Ukitake reminded him. “He was playing one of his games, trying to get you to confirm something he suspected. You reacted hard because you must have known on some level that your mom was involved in something... more. That’s all you still know for certain, Ichigo. Don’t let my partner rattle you.”

Ichigo snorted. “What are you? ‘Good Cop’?”

“Obviously,” Ukitake agreed, finally removing his hand. “Let’s go see if your boyfriend is recovered.” Turning back towards the house, he paused to gave Ichigo a measured look, one that took in his rumpled clothes and unwashed hair. “Perhaps I can convince you both to take a shower before we head back to town? You boys could have the house to yourselves, Shunsui and I can go out for lunch.”

Alone with Renji? In a hot shower?

“Um, yeah, that’d work.”

#

When Ichigo and Ukitake returned inside, Renji was in the kitchen sopping up the last of the syrup with the remains of a cold pancake in his hand. 

“Were you raised in a barn?” Ichigo teased. 

Renji seemed to take the tease hard. He looked at the pancake in his hand and set it down, his nose reddening with embarrassment. “Uh, kinda,” Renji said, getting up to take his plate over to the stack of others by the dishwasher. “I was in and out of homeless shelters. They weren’t big on etiquette there, especially with the kids.”

Now it was Ichigo that was embarassed. “Oh. I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, I never said,” Renji said, turning on the faucet to wash his hands in the sink.

Ichigo started cleaning up the things on the table. Picking up the syrup, he stuck it in the door of the fridge. He didn’t know how to politely ask what he wanted to know, so he just blurted, “Rukia, too? It’s just… I mean I know you guys were friends before. I guess I thought it was, you know, a traditional grade school kind of thing. And she… uh…. I mean…..”

Renji smiled at Ichigo’s awkwardness. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But, Rukia was always different from us,” Renji said, finding a towel to wipe his hands on. “Even back then she had an air about her that set her above the street. I guess that’s why she made such an impression on me. She was the one who started us thinking about moving up, getting an education, becoming cops or making something decent of ourselves. We were just starting to do that and, just like that, she was gone. The Kuchiki adopted her and I never really saw her again until Byakuya became my boss.”

That must have been weird--to suddenly see someone so out of context, and all proper-ified. 

Mostly. Because Rukia didn’t quite fit the debutant mold. She had a tough streak a mile wide, but Ichigo had kind of figured that was just some kind of tomboy schtick, especially since her Japanese was so proper she could sound old-timey, like some ancient samurai. And again, Ichigo had thought that was all part of her cosplay gig.

Ichigo had liked her instantly. He was fond of sassy, smart tough women, and Rukia had all that, plus that ‘air’ Renji talked about, something that set her apart, made her memorable and unique. 

Plus, she was totally cute in that dorky way Ichigo was helpless to. If he liked women at all that way, he’d probably be all over that.

“I noticed you said you were bi,” Ichigo noted. The kitchen table was mostly cleared, but Ichigo kept himself occupied straightening things and wiping away crumbs. “Are you still in love with her?”

Renji was silent for a while, leaning on the ledge of the sink, his arms crossed. When Ichigo snuck a look at him, Renji was frowning thoughtfully, the forehead tattoos making a sharp line of his eyebrows. “I don’t know,” Renji said finally. Looking up, he met Ichigo’s gaze steadily and continued. “I loved Rukia once, that’s undeniable. But, I don’t really know her anymore, Ichigo. That was decades ago. I was eight year’s old, for fuck’s sake. If I’m in love with any part of her, it’s the girl I knew back then. I don’t know how much of that is left or, if I could have who she used to be back, if that person would even fit with who I am now. I think that ship sailed, you know what I’m saying?”

Ichigo nodded. It wasn’t the best answer, but it’d do. At least it was honest. Ichigo appreciated that much. Putting on a little smile, he said, “If you leave me for a woman, I’ll be scarred for life. More to the point, if you run off with some samurai cosplaying chick before we even have sex, I’m going to be seriously disappointed. I might even have to hunt you down and kill you.”

Renji blinked. “That’s your come on, some kind of threat?”

Well, there was a reason Ichigo was still a virgin. “Yeah, what of it?”

As he pushed off the sink, Renji’s smile was wolfish. “Challenge accepted.”

#

They wrestled their way into the bathroom, but, once they were naked and in the spacious, tiled shower together, Ichigo felt suddenly shy. “Uh, so, if you’re hoping I’m taking the lead. I got nothing.”

Renji looked stunning wet and naked, with rivulets of water running down the lines of his body--which were already accentuated by dark slashes of tattoos. Ichigo could hardly figure out where he wanted to focus: the broad chest with the funky interlocking tribal thing making his chest seem even bigger, the lines that slimmed his already trim waist, the tiger stripes on bulging biceps, or that tantalizing thatch of red at his crotch…. 

Renji’s chuckle cut through Ichigo’s inventory of his body. “Bullshit,” he smiled toothily. “You know what you want.”

Ichigo blushed, “Yeah, I know what I want, but I don’t know what to do.”

Renji’s fingers, warm and slippery from the shower, traced the line of Ichigo’s jaw. “We ain’t gotta do nothin’ what don’t come natural. I know what I want to do. I want to touch you.”

Ichigo shivered under Renji’s exploratory fingers. “Yeah, that’s a good start. I’m into that.”

In fact, as Renji’s fingers got lost in the short hairs of Ichigo’s head, Ichigo reached out and spread his own hands over Renji’s pecs. The strength and power of the muscles under his palms turned him on, hard. The sluicing water made it easy to let his hands slide downward over six-pack abs, along jutting hipbones, until, without even thinking, Ichigo’s fingers curled around the thickening shaft of Renji’s dick.

“I thought you didn’t know what to do,” Renji’s voice tickled Ichigo’s ear as he leaned in closer.

“I’m a fast learner,” Ichigo said, his hand already moving of its own accord, fondling, stroking, pulling.

“I’d say!” Renji grunted, letting himself be pushed back against the wall by Ichigo’s mouth on his collarbone. Ichigo enjoyed the sounds coming from Renji’s throat--growls, sighs, even moans--his body growing hotter and more aroused with each noise. 

But Renji’s surrender was short lived. In a moment, Ichigo felt the tide turn. His back hit the wall with a slap and Renji’s mouth was on his nipple--Whoa! That shot electric pulses straight to his already painfully aroused dick. Renji’s huge hands cupped Ichigo’s ass so hard he was almost pulled up off the floor as he was crushed against Renji’s body. At least that made it easier to take himself into his hand. 

Kinda. Because at this point, they were both sort of just thrusting into each other’s bodies. Cocks banged into each other, glancing off skin and Ichigo’s hand, chaotically… but it didn’t matter to Ichigo, he was getting off on the taste of Renji’s mouth, this whole new nipple thing, and everything---the feel of the short hairs of Renji’s sideburns under his fingers, the way Renji manhandled him, like he was trying pull their bodies so tight together that they merged into one soul. On top of all that were the insanely hot growling noises Renji kept making, the feel of strength and muscle and hot water, their bodies touching, the sucking and sliding, and pulling and… oh, fuck, he was going to cum from this... nothing, this random naked grope session, like some kind of overeager teenaged… oh shit.

Before he could warn Renji that he was going to spill it way too soon, Renji bit Ichigo’s shoulder hard and snarled into his flesh, “Fuck, I’m going to cum!”

“What? Oh god, me too!”

What the fuck was this? This wasn’t sex, was it? But, defining it properly didn’t seem to matter to Ichigo’s body at all, because the second Renji let loose, so did he. 

Ichigo’s orgasm was a heady rush that bubbled out a laugh and a sob all at once. His knees gave out and he slipped, pulling Renji down on top of him, the water hitting them like warm rain. Only, this time, the feeling of the body on top of his comforted Ichigo. He held on tightly to broad shoulders as he rode wave after wave of aftershocks of pleasure. 

Maybe he even cried a little, but the shower covered that.

Renji breathed like a racehorse, his mouth buried in the crook of Ichigo’s neck, his head tucked and his face hidden. When he finally pulled his face up to look into Ichigo’s, his eyes were wide with wonder and shock. “Gay sex is amazing.”

“I don’t even think that was really sex,” Ichigo said.

“What? Are you saying it gets better?”

“Um, yes? I mean I think so,” Ichigo said. 

“Really? Because, if so, I’m definitely all in. We’re doing this again. And again. And again.”

Ichigo nodded thinking about all the things he wanted to try. “We probably need condoms and lube.”

“I will buy all of it,” Renji insisted very seriously. A finger poked Ichigo’s chest with each word for emphasis, “All. Of. It.”

Ichigo laughed. “I think I’m in love you a little bit right now.”

“Same,” Renji said, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on Ichigo’s mouth. Ichigo felt himself melting a little again, letting Renji’s enthusiasm wash over him. A deep body shiver from both of them broke their kiss. “I want to stay here all day, but I’m getting cold,” Renji admitted. “And I’m starving.”

“Plus, there’s the whole rescue thing and the fact that Ukitake and Kyōraku will be back any moment,” Ichigo reminded him.

Renji sighed as he untangled himself from Ichigo’s body. Reaching over to turn off the shower, he grunted, “There is that.” Renji seemed to frown at the steamed-over mirror through the glass door of the shower for a long moment. As Ichigo pulled himself up off the floor, Renji reached out a hand to help him. “Or we could just have sex and skip that.”

“We could,” Ichigo agreed once he was on his feet. He gave Renji’s hand a squeeze before letting go. He braced himself for cooler air as he slid open the glass shower door, “Or we could consider a whole week’s worth of sex as the reward for successfully rescuing Rukia.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to wait,” Renji muttered. “But, yeah, I guess that’s a plan.”

Ichigo nodded, wrapping himself in a big fluffy white towel. “Yeah, let’s do this. Because now I’m highly motivated to get this done with.”

“Highly,” Renji said, squeezing Ichigo’s butt check.

#

Ukitake and Kyōraku were already home and maybe had been for some time, given the knowing little smile that Ukitake flashed Ichigo when he and Renji came back into the kitchen. After the shower, it felt a little gross getting back into clothes that smelled of bar, but they didn’t have a lot of other options. On the other hand Renji seemed to doubly appreciate that Ichigo was in his shirt and they would have started round two in the bedroom if they hadn’t heard noises from the kitchen.

“So what’s the plan?” Renji asked, happily digging into the ‘doggie bag’ of leftovers that Ukitake handed him. “When can we start this thing?”

Kyōraku set down the cell phone he’d been looking at. “Does now work for you boys, because it seems they’re moving her already.”

Renji nearly spit out his noodles. “What? Last I checked we had days, maybe even weeks!”

“Central is spooked, I’d guess, though I don’t know why,” Kyōraku said casually. He’d changed out of his yukata and was dressed almost like a salaryman… except the jacket. The pants were black, the shirt white, the tie black… and then there was a hot pink suit coat. For a guy who said he was ‘bi,’ his fashion sense was one hundred percent fabulous. “Oh,” Kyōraku added almost as an afterthought, holding up the screen of his phone for them to see “....and it seems Captain Aizen has been murdered.”

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a part two.
> 
> This got much longer and more complicated than I intended, alas. The next section is going to be far more of a canon divergence, so that seemed like a good reason to break at this point.


End file.
